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OLD ROSE AND 
SILVER 

BY 

MYRTLE REED 


Author of 

“Lavender and Old Lace ” 
“The Master’s Violin” 
“A Spinner in the Sun” 
"Flower of the Dusk” 
Etc. 



New York 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 

Publishers 


Sboo^oooooooooooooodS 


Made in ike United States of America 


ooooooooooooooooo 










CD' T i, 


J 






Copyright, 1909 

BY 

MYRTLE REED McCULLOUGH 




By 1 

A Weaver of Dreams 
Old Rose and Silver 
Lavender and Old Lace 
The Master’s Violin 
Love Letters of a Musician 
The Spinster Book 
The Shadow of Victory 
Threads of Grey and Gold 
Book of Clever Beasts 

Myrtle 


,e Reed 

Sonnets tc a Lover 
Master cf the Vineyard 
Flower of the Dusk 
At the Sign of the J ack-o’-Lantem 
A Spinner in the Sun 
Later Love Letters of a Musician 
Love Affairs of Literary Men j 
The White Shield 
Pickaback Sengs 
Year Book 


This edition is issued under arrangement with 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and 


the publisher! 
London 


/3-x f 



Hutbor’s Wote 

The music which appears in the following pages is 
from an unpublished piano arrangement, by Grant 
Weber, of Wilson G. Smith's “ Entreaty," published 
by G. Schirmer, New York. 


J 


in 



Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I— A Falling Star i 

II — Welcome Home . . . .14 

III — The Voice of the Violin . . 26 

IV — The Crosby Twins . . . 39 

V — An Afternoon Call ... 50 

VI — The Light on the Altar . . 62 

VII — Father and Son .... 73 

VIII — “The Year’s at the Spring ” . 84 

IX — A Knight-Errant . . . 95 

X — Sweet-and-Twenty . . .107 

XI — Keeping the Faith . . .119 

XII — An Enchanted Hour . . .131 

XIII — White Gloves . . . .146 

XIV — The Thirtieth of June . . 158 

XV — “How She Will Come to Me” . 170 

XVI — How Isabel Came . . .183 

XVII — Penance . . . . .195 

XVIII — “Less than the Dust” . . 207 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX — Over the Bar .... 220 

XX — Risen from the Dead . . . 233 

XXI — Saved — and Lost .... 245 

XXII — A Birthday Party . . . 258 

XXIII — 11 Tears, Idle Tears” . . .271 

XXIV— The House Where Love Lived . 286 


®R> "Rose and Silver 



©lb TRose anb Silver 


I 


H falling Star 



The last hushed chord died into silence, but the 
woman lingered, dreaming over the keys. Firelight 
from the end of the room brought red-gold gleams 
into the dusky softness of her hair and shadowed her 
profile upon the opposite wall. No answering flash 
of jewels met the questioning light — there was only 
a mellow glow from the necklace of tourmalines, 
quaintly set, that lay upon the white lace of her 
gown. 

She turned her face toward the fire as a flower 
seeks the sun, but her deep eyes looked beyond it, 
into the fires of Life itself. A haunting sense of 

i 


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unfulfilment stirred her to vague resentment, and she 
sighed as she rose and moved restlessly about the 
room. 

She lighted the tall candles that stood upon the 
mantel-shelf, straightened a rug, moved a chair, and 
gathered up a handful of fallen rose-petals on her 
way to the window. She was about to draw down the 
shade, but, instead, her hand dropped slowly to her 
side, her fingers unclasped, and the crushed crimson 
petals fluttered to the floor. 

Outside, the purple dusk of Winter twilight lay 
soft upon the snow. Through an opening in the 
evergreens the far horizon, grey as mother-of-pearl, 
bent down to touch the plain in a misty line that was 
definite yet not clear. At the left were the mountains, 
cold and calm, veiled by distances dim with frost. 

There was a step upon the stair, but the strong, 
straight figure in white lace did not turn away from 
the window, even when the door opened. The still- 
ness was broken only by the cheerful crackle of the 
fire until a sweet voice asked : 

“Are you dreaming, Rose?” 

Rose turned away from the window then, with a 
laugh. “Why, I must have been. Will you have this 
chair, Aunt Francesca? ” 

She turned a high-backed rocker toward the fire and 
Madame Bernard leaned back luxuriously, stretching 
her tiny feet to the blaze. She wore grey satin slippers 
with high French heels and silver buckles. A bit of 
grey silk stocking was visible between the buckle 
and the hem of her grey gown. 

Rose smiled at her in affectionate appreciation. 
The little old lady seemed like a bit of Dresden china ; 
she was so dainty and so frail. Her hair was lustre- 


B ffalUng Star 


5 


less, snowy white, and beautifully, though simply, 
dressed in a bygone fashion. Her blue eyes were so 
deep in colour as to seem almost purple in certain 
lights, and the years had been kind to her, leaving 
few lines. Her hands, resting on the arms of her 
chair, had not lost their youthful contour, but around 
her eyes and the comers of her mouth were the faint 
prints of many smiles. 

“ Rose, ” said Madame Bernard, suddenly, “you 
are very lovely to-night.” 

“ I was thinking the same of you, ” responded the 
younger woman, flushing. “Shall we organise our- 
selves into a mutual admiration society?” 

“We might as well, I think. There seems to be 
nobody else. ” 

A shadow crossed Rose’s face and her beauty 
took on an appealing wistfulness. She had been 
sheltered always and she hungered for Life as the 
sheltered often do. Madame Bernard, for the thou- 
sandth time, looked at her curiously. From the 
shapely foot that tapped restlessly on the rug beneath 
her white lace gown, to the crown of dusky hair with 
red-gold lights in it, Rose was made for love — and 
Madame wondered how she had happened to miss it. 

“Aunt Francesca,” said Rose, with a whimsical 
sadness, “do you realise that I’m forty to-day?” 

“ That’s . nothing, ” returned the other, serenely. 
“Everybody has been forty, or will be, if they live.” 

“I haven’t lived yet,” Rose objected. “I’ve only 
been alive. ” 

“‘While there’s life there’s hope,’” quoted 
Madame lightly. “What do you want, dear child? 
Battle, murder, and sudden death?” 

“ I don’t know what I want. ” 


4 


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“ Let’s take an inventory and see if we can find out. 
You have one priceless blessing — good health. You 
have considerably more than your share of good 
looks. Likewise a suitable wardrobe; not many 
clothes, but few, and those few, good. Clothes are 
supposed to please and satisfy women. You have 
musical talent, a love of books and flowers, a fine 
appreciation of beauty, a host of friends, and that 
one supreme gift of the gods — a sense of humour. In 
addition to all this, you have a comfortable home and 
an income of your own that enables you to do practi- 
cally as you please. Could you ask for more? ” 

“ Not while I have you, Aunt Francesca. I suppose 
I’m horrid.” 

“You couldn’t be, my dear. I’ve left marriage 
out of the question, since, if you’d had any deep 
longing for it, you’d have chosen someone from the 
horde that has infested my house for fifteen years 
and more. You r ve surely been loved. ” 

Rose smiled and bit her lip. ”1 think that’s it,” 
she murmured. “I’ve never cared for anybody — like 
that. At least, I don’t think I have. ” 

“ ‘When in doubt, don’t,’ ” resumed the other, 
taking refuge in a platitude. “Is there any one 
of that faithful procession whom you particularly 
regret?” 

“No,” answered Rose, truthfully. 

“Love is like a vaccination,” continued the little 
lady in grey, with seeming irrelevance. “When it 
takes, you don’t have to be told. ” 

Her tone was light, almost flippant, and Rose, in 
her turn, wondered at the woman and her marvellous 
self-control. At twenty-five, Madame Bernard mar- 
ried a young French soldier, who had chosen to serve 


H failing Star 


S 


ids adopted country in the War of the Rebellion. In 
less than three months, her gallant Captain was 
brought home to her — dead. 

For a long time, she hovered uncertainly between 
life and death. Then, one day, she sat up and asked 
for a mirror. The ghost of her former self looked back 
at her, for her colour was' gone, her hair was quickly 
turning grey, and the light had vanished from her 
eyes. Yet the valiant spirit was not broken, and that 
day, with high resolve, she sent her soul forward upon 
the new way. 

“He was a soldier,” she said, “and I, his wife, 
will be a soldier too. He faced Death bravely and I 
shall meet Life with as much courage as God will give 
me. But do not, oh, do not even speak his name to 
me, or I shall forget I am a soldier and become a 
woman again.” 

So, gradually, it became understood that the young 
soldier's name was not to be mentioned to his widow. 
She took up her burden and went on devoting herself 
to the army service until the war was over. Then she 
ceased to labour with lint and bandages and betook 
herself to new surroundings. Her husband’s brother 
offered her a home, but she was unable to accept, for 
the two men looked so much alike that she could not 
have borne it. Sometimes, even now, she turned 
away in pain from Rose, who resembled her father. 

“ ‘Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,' ” 
Madame Bernard was saying. “I seem to run to 
coiiversational antiques to-night. ‘Doctor, lawyer, 
merchant, chief — ’ which will you have, Rose? If I 
remember rightly, you've had all but the thief already. 
Shall I get you a nice embezzler, or will a plain burglar 
do?” 


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“Neither,” laughed Rose. “I'm safe from em- 
bezzlers, I think, but I live in nightly fear of being 
burgled, as you well know.” 

“ None the less, we’ve got to take the risk. Isabel 
will not be contented with you and me. She’ll want 
other hats on the rack besides the prehistoric relic 
we keep there as a warning to burglars. ” 

“I’d forgotten Isabel,” answered Rose, with a 
start. “What is she doing?” 

“ Dressing for dinner. My dear, that child brought 
three trunks with her and I understand another is 
coming. She has enough clothes to set up a modest 
shop, should she desire to ‘go into trade,’ as the 
English say.” 

“I’d forgotten Isabel,” said Rose, again. “We 
must find some callow youths to amuse her. A girl 
of twenty can’t appreciate a real man. ” 

“Sometimes a girl of forty can’t, either,” laughed 
Madame, with a sly glance at Rose. “Cheer up, my 
dear — I’m nearing seventy, and I assure you that 
forty is really very young.” 

“It’s scarcely infantile, but I’ll admit that I’m 
young — comparatively. ” 

“All things are comparative in this world, and 
perhaps you and Isabel, with your attendant swains, 
may enable me to forget that I’m no longer young, 
even comparatively. ” 

The guest came in, somewhat shyly. She was a 
cousin of Rose’s, on the mother’s side, and had 
arrived only that afternoon on a visit. 

“Bless us,” said Madame Bernard; “how pretty 
we are! Isabel, you’re a credit to the establishment. ” 

Isabel smiled — a little, cool smile. She was almost 
as tall as Rose and towered far above the little lady 


H falling Star 


7 


in grey who offered her a welcoming hand and invited 
her to sit by the fire. Isabel’s gown was turquoise 
blue and very becoming, as her hair and eyes were 
dark and her skin was fair. Her eyes were almost 
black and very brilliant; they literally sparkled when 
she allowed herself to become interested in anything. 

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked. 

“ No, ” answered Rose, glancing at the clock. “ It’s 
ten minutes to seven.” 

“I couldn’t find my things. It was like dressing 
in a dream, when, as soon as you find something you 
want, you immediately lose everything else. ” 

“I know,” laughed Rose. “I had occasion to pack 
a suit-case myself last night, during my troubled 
slumbers. ” 

A large yellow cat appeared mysteriously out of the 
shadows and came, yawning, toward the fire. He sat 
down on the edge of Madame’s grey gown, and 
blinked. 

Isabel drew her skirts away. “I don’t like cats,” 
she said. 

“There are cats and cats,” remarked Madame 
Bernard in a tone of gentle rebuke. “Mr. Boffin is 
not an ordinary cat. He is a gentleman and a scholar 
and he never forgets his manners. ” 

“I’ve wondered, sometimes,” said Rose, “whether 
he really knows everything, or only pretends that he 
does. He looks very wise. ” 

“Silence and reserve will give anyone a reputation 
for wisdom, ” Madame responded. She bent down to 
stroke the yellow head, but, though Mr. Boffin grate- 
fully accepted the caress, he did not condescend to 
purr. Presently he stalked away into the shadows, 
waving his yellow tail. 


8 


©15 IRose an& Silver 


“What a lovely room this is, ” observed Isabel, 
after a pause. 

“It’s comfortable, ” replied Madame. “I couldn't 
live in an ugly place. ” 

Everything in the room spoke eloquently of good 
taste, from the deep-toned Eastern rug at the hearth 
to the pictures upon the grey-green walls. There was 
not a false note anywhere in the subtle harmony of 
line, colour, and fabric. It was the sort of room that 
one comes back to, after long absence, with renewed 
appreciation. 

“I love old mahogany,’' continued Isabel. “I 
suppose you’ve had this a long, long time.” 

“No, it’s new. To me — I mean. I have some 
beautiful old French mahogany, but I don’t use it. ” 

Her voice was very low at the end of the sentence. 
She compressed her lips tightly and, leaning forward, 
vigorously poked the fire. A stream of sparks went 
up the chimney and quick flames leaped to follow. 

“Don’t set the house on fire, Aunt Francesca,” 
cautioned Rose. “ There’s the dinner gong. ” 

The three went out, Madame Bernard a little 
ahead and the two younger women together. Rose 
sat opposite the head of the table and Isabel was 
placed at Madame’s right. In a single glance, the 
guest noted that the table was perfectly appointed. 

“Are you making company of me?” she asked. 

“Not at all,” smiled Madame. “None the less, 
there is a clear distinction between eating and dining 
and we endeavour to dine. ” 

“If Aunt Francesca were on a desert island,” said 
Rose, “ I believe she would make a grand affair of her 
solitary dinner, and have her coffee in the morning 
before she rolled out of the sand. ” 


B Jailing Star 


9 


The little old lady dimpled with pleasure. “I’d try 
to, ” she laughed. “ I think I’d ” 

She was interrupted by a little exclamation of 
pleasure from Rose, who had just discovered a small 
white parcel at her plate. She was untying it with 
eager fingers, while her colour came and went. A 
card fluttered out, face upward. “To my dear Rose, 
with love from Aunt Francesca,” was written in a 
small, quaint hand. 

It was a single magnificent ruby set in a ring which 
exactly fitted. Rose seldom wore rings and wondered, 
vaguely, how Aunt Francesca knew. 

“I filled a finger of one of your gloves,” said 
Madame, as though she had read the thought, “and 
had it fitted. Simple, wasn’t it?” 

“ Oh, ” breathed Rose, “it’s beautiful beyond words! 
How shall I ever thank you!” 

“Wear it, dear. I’m so glad you’re pleased!” 

“It’s lovely,” said Isabel, but the tone was cold 
and she seemed to speak with an effort. With a swift 
little stab at the heart, Rose saw that the girl envied 
her the gift. 

“It reconciles me to my years,” Rose went on, 
quickly. “I’m willing to be forty, if I can have a ring 
like this.” 

“Why, Cousin Rose!” cried Isabel, in astonishment. 
“Are you forty?” 

“Yes, dear. Don’t be conventional and tell me 
I don’t look it, for I feel it — every year.” 

“ I should never have thought it, ” Isabel murmured. 

Rose turned the ring slowly upon her finger and the 
ruby yielded the deep crimson glow of its heart to the 
candle-light that softly filled the room. “ I’ve never 
had a ruby,” she said, “ and yet I feel, someway, as 


10 


®R> IRose anb Silver 


though I’d always had this. It seems as if it belonged 
to me. ” 

“That’s because it suits you,” nodded Madame 
Bernard. “ I hope that sometime our civilisation may 
reach such a point of advancement that every woman 
will wear the clothes and jewels that .suit her person- 
ality, and make her home a proper setting for herself. 
See how women break their hearts for diamonds — and 
not one woman in a hundred can wear them. ” 

“Could I wear diamonds?” asked Isabel. She was 
interested now and her eyes sparkled. 

Madame Bernard studied her for a moment before 
replying. “Yes,” she admitted, “you could wear 
them beautifully, but they do not belong to Rose, or 
to me. ” 

“What else could I wear?” 

“Turquoises, if they were set in silver.” 

“I have one,” Isabel announced with satisfaction. 
“A lovely big turquoise matrix set in dull silver. But 
I have no diamonds. ” 

“They’ll come,” Rose assured her, “if you want 
them. I think people usually get things if they want 
them badly enough. ” 

Isabel turned to Madame Bernard. “What stones 
do you wear?” she inquired, politely. 

“Only amethysts,” she laughed. “I have a peaii 
necklace, but it doesn’t quite ‘ belong, ’ so I don’t wear 
it. I won’t wear anything that doesn’t ‘belong.’ ” 

“How can you tell?” 

“By instinct. I can walk into a shop, look around 
for a moment, and say: ‘Please bring me my hat.’ 
The one I ask for is always the right one. It is 
invariably becoming and suitable, and it’s the same 
with everything else.” 


B ffalUng Star 


ii 


“It’s a wonderful experience to go shopping with 
Aunt Francesca, ” put in Rose. “ She knows what she 
wants and goes straight to it, without loss of time. 
Utterly regardless of fashion, for its own sake, she 
always contrives to be in the mode, though I believe 
that if hoop-skirts were suited to her, she'd have the 
courage of her crinoline, and wear one. ” 

“Let us be thankful they’re not,” remarked 
Madame. “It’s almost impossible to believe it, 
but they must have looked well upon some women. 
Every personality makes its own demand for harmony, 
and it is fascinating to me to observe strange people 
and plan for them their houses and clothes and be- 
longings. You can pick out, from a crowd, the woman 
who would have a crayon portrait of herself upon an 
easel in her parlour, and quite properly, too, since 
her nature demands it. After you are experienced, 
you can identify the man who eats sugar and vinegar 
on lettuce, and group those \yho keep parrots — or are 
capable of it. ” 

The seventy years sat lightly upon Madame Fran- 
cesca now. Her deep eyes shone with inward amuse- 
ment, and little smiles hovered unexpectedly about 
the comers of her mouth. A faint pink tint, like a 
faded rose, bloomed upon her cheeks. Rose watched 
her with adoring eyes, and wondered whether any 
man in the world, after fifteen years of close association, 
could be half so delightful. 

Coffee was brought into the living-room, when they 
went back, preceded by Mr. Boffin, emanating the 
dignified satisfaction of a cat who has supped daintily 
upon chicken and cream. He sat down before the 
fire and methodically washed his face. 

“I believe I envy Mr. Boffin his perfect digestion, ’* 


12 


©Ifc IRose a nb Silver 


remarked Madame, as she sipped her coffee from a 
Royal Canton cup. She and Rose stood for half an 
hour after dinner, always. 

Isabel finished her coffee and set the cup upon the 
table. She slipped the Sheffield tray from under the 
embroidered doily and took it to the light, where she 
leaned over it, studying the design. Rose thought 
that the light from the tray was reflected upon the 
girl’s face, she became at once so brilliant, so 
sparkling. 

“Speaking of harmony — ” said Madame Bernard, 
in a low tone, glancing at Rose and inclining her head 
toward Isabel. 

“Yes,” replied Isabel, returning the tray to its 
place; “it is a lovely one, isn’t it?” 

Madame turned toward the window to hide a smile. 
Rose followed, and drew the little grey lady into the 
circle of her strong arm. 

1 1 Dear Aunt Francesca ! ” she said softly. “ I thank 
you so much!” 

The older woman patted the hand that wore the 
ruby, then turned to Isabel. “ Come, ” she said, “and 
be glad you’re indoors. ” 

The three women stood at the wide window, look- 
ing out across the snow, lighted only by the stars and 
a ghostly crescent of moon. The evergreens were 
huddled closely together as though they kept each 
other warm. Beyond, the mountains brooded in their 
eternal sleep, which riving lightnings and vast, re- 
verberating thunders were powerless to change. 

Suddenly, across the purple darkness between the 
pale stars, flamed a meteor — an uncharted voyager 
through infinite seas of space. It left a trail of fire 
across the heavens, fading at last into luminous mist. 


B failing Star 


13 


the colour of the stars. When the light had quite died 
out, Madame Bernard spoke. 

“ A passing soul, ” she sighed. 

“A kiss,” breathed Rose, dreamily, 

“Star-dust!” laughed Isabel. 


ii 


TKttelcome Ifoome 

“Great news, my dears, great news!’* cried Madame 
Bernard, gaily waving an open letter as she came into 
the room where Rose was sewing and Isabel experi- 
menting with a new coiffure. “I’ll give you three 
guesses!” 

“Somebody coming for a visit?” asked Isabel. 

“Wrong!” 

“Somebody coming, but not for a visit?” queried 
Rose. 

“You’re getting warmer.” 

“How can anybody come, if not for a visit?” in- 
quired Isabel, mildly perplexed. “That is, unless 
it’s a messenger? ” 

“The old Kent house is to be opened,” said 
Madame, “and we’re to open it. At last we shall 
have neighbours!” 

“How exciting,” Rose answered. She did not 
wholly share the old lady’s pleasure, and wondered, 
with a guilty consciousness of the long hours she 
spent at her music, whether Aunt Francesca had 
been lonely. 

“Listen, girls!” Madame’s cheeks were pink with 
excitement as she sat down with the letter, which 
had been written in Paris. 

14 


IKHelcome t)ome 


15 


“ 1 My dear Madame Francesca: 

“ ‘At last we are coming home — Allison and I. 
The boy has a fancy to see Spring come again on his 
native heath, so we shall sail earlier than we had 
otherwise planned. 

“ ‘I wonder, my dear friend, if I dare ask you to 
open the house for us? I am so tired of hotels that I 
want to go straight back. You have the keys and if 
you will engage the proper number of servants and see 
that the place is made habitable, I shall be more than 
ever your debtor. I will cable you when we start. 

‘Trusting that all is well with you and yours 
and with many thanks, believe me, my dear Madame, 
“ ‘Most faithfully yours, 

“ ‘Richard Kent.’ ” 

“How like a man,” smiled Rose. “That house 
has been closed for over ten years, and he thinks there 
is nothing to be done but to unlock the front door and 
engage two or three servants who may or may not bt- 
trustworthy. ” 

“What an imposition!” Isabel said. “Aunt Fran- 
cesca, didn’t I meet Allison Kent when I was here 
before?” 

“I’ve forgotten.” 

“Don’t you remember? Mother brought me here 
once when I was a little tot. We stayed about a week 
and the roses were all in bloom. I can see the garden 
now. Allison used to come over sometimes and tell 
me fairy stories. He told me that the long, slender 
gold-trimmed bottles filled with attar of roses came 
from the roots of the rose bushes — don’t you re- 
member? And I pulled up rose bushes all over the 
garden to find out. ” 


16 


©It) IRose anb Silver 


‘‘Dear me, yes,” smiled Aunt Francesca. “How 
time does fly!” 

“You were very cross with Allison — that is, as 
cross as you ever could be. It seemed so queer for 
you to be angry at him and not at me, for I pulled 
up the bushes. ” 

“You were sufficiently punished, Isabel. I believe 
the thorns hurt your little hands, didn’t they?” 

' “They certainly did,” responded the girl, with a 
little shudder at the recollection. “ I have a scar still. 
That was — let me see — why, it was fifteen years 
ago!” 

“Just before I came to live with Aunt Francesca, ” 
said Rose. “You and your mother went away the 
same day. ” 

“Yes, we went in the morning,” Isabel continued, 
“ and you were to come in the afternoon. I remember 
pleading with my mother to let me stay long enough 
to see * Cousin Wose.’ ” 

1 ‘ Fifteen years ! ’ ’ Madame repeated . ‘ ‘ Allison went 
abroad, then, to study the violin, and the house has 
been open only once since. Richard came back for a 
Summer, to attend to some business, then returned to 
Europe. How the time goes by ! ” 

The letter fell to the floor and Francesca sat dream- 
ing over the interlude of years. Colonel Kent had 
been her husband’s best friend, and after the pitiless 
sword had cleaved her life asunder, had become hers. 
At forty the Colonel had married a young and beauti- 
ful girl. A year later Francesca had gone to him with 
streaming eyes, carrying his new-born son in her arms, 
to tell him that his wife was dead. 

Drawn together by sorrow, the two had been as 
dear to each other as friends may be but seldom are. 


TKUelcome Dome 


17 


Though childless herself, Francesca had some of the 
gifts of motherhood, and, at every step, she had aided 
and counselled the Colonel in regard to his son, who 
had his mother’s eyes and bore his mother’s name. 
Discerning the boy’s talent, long before his father 
suspected it, she had chosen the violin for him rather 
than the piano, and had herself urged the Colonel to 
take him abroad for study though the thought of 
separation caused her many a pang. 

When the two sailed away, Francesca had found 
her heart strangely empty; her busy hands strangely 
idle. But Life had taught her one great lesson, and 
when one door of her heart was closed, she opened 
another, as quickly as possible. So she sent for Rose, 
who was alone in the world, and, for fifteen years, the 
two women had lived happily together. 

As she sat there, thinking, some of her gay courage 
failed her. For the moment her mask was off, and 
Li the merciless sunlight, she looked old and worn. 
Rose, looking at her with tender pity, marvelled at 
the ignorance of man, in asking a frail little old lady 
to open and make habitable, in less than a fortnight, 
a house of fifteen large rooms. 

“Aunt Francesca,” she said, “let me open the 
house. Tell me what you want done, and Isabel 
and I will see to it. ” 

“Certainly,” agreed Isabel without enthusiasm. 
“We’ll do it.” 

“No,” Madame replied stubbornly. “He asked 
me to do it. ” 

“He only meant for you to direct,” said Rose. 
“You surely don’t think he meant you to do the 
scrubbing?” 

Madame smiled at that, and yielded gracefully. 


18 


®l& TRcse mb Silver 


“ There must be infinite scrubbing, after all these 
years. I believe I’ll superintend operations from 
here. Then, when it’s all done, I’ll go over and 
welcome them home/' 

“That is as it should be. Isabel and I will go over 
this afternoon, and when we come back, we can tell 
you all about it. ” 

“You’d better drive — I’m sure the paths aren’t 
broken. ” 

So, after luncheon, the two started out with the 
keys, Madame waving them a cheery good-bye from 
the window. 

“Everything about this place seems queer to me,” 
said Isabel. “It’s the same, and yet not the same.” 

“I know,” Rose answered. “Things are much 
smaller, aren’t they?” 

“Yes. The rooms used to be vast, and the ceilings 
very far away. Now, they’re merely large rooms 
with the ceilings comfortably high. The garden used 
to seem like a huge park, but now it’s only a large 
garden. There used to be a great many steps in the 
stairway, and high ones at that. Now it’s nothing 
compared with other flights. Only Aunt Francesca 
remains the same. She hasn’t changed at all.” 

“She’s a saint,” said Rose with deep conviction, 
as the carriage turned into the driveway. 

The house, set far back from the street, was of the 
true Colonial type, with stately white pillars at the 
dignified entrance. The garden was a tangled mass 
of undergrowth — in spite of the snow one could see 
that — but the house, being substantially built, had 
changed scarcely at all. 

“A new coat of paint will freshen it up amazingly, ” 
said Rose, as they went up the steps. She was thrilled 


Welcome Ibome 


19 


with a mysterious sense of adventure which the 
younger woman did not share. “I feel like a burg- 
lar/’ she continued, putting the key into the rusty 
lock. 

“ 1 feel cold, ” remarked Isabel, shivering in her furs. 

At last the wide door swung on its creaking hinges 
and they went into the loneliness and misery of an 
empty house. The dust of ages had settled upon 
everything and penetrated every nook and cranny. 
The floors groaned dismally, and the scurrying feet of 
mice echoed through the walls. Cobwebs draped 
the windows, where the secret spinners had held 
high carnival, undisturbed. An indescribable musty 
odour almost stifled them, and the chill dampness 
carried with it a sense of gloom and foreboding. 

“My goodness!” Isabel exclaimed. “Nobody can 
ever live here again. ” 

“Don’t be discouraged,” laughed Rose. “Soap, 
water, sunshine, and fire can accomplish miracles.” 

At the end of the hall a black, empty fireplace 
yawned cavernously. There was another in the 
living-room and still another in the library back of it. 
Isabel opened the door on the left. “Why, there’s 
another fireplace in the dining-room, ” she said. “ Do 
you suppose they have one in the kitchen, too?” 

“ Go in and see, if you like. ” 

“I’m afraid to go alone. You come, too. ” 

There was no fireplace in the kitchen, but the rusty 
range was sadly in need of repair. 

“I’m going down cellar,” Rose said. “Are you 
coming?” 

“I should say not. Hurry back, won’t you?” 

Rose went cautiously down the dark, narrow stair- 
way. The light was dim in the basement but she 


eo 


©R> TRobc an& Stiver 


could see that there was no coal. She went back and 
forth several times from bin to window, making notes 
in a small memorandum book. She was quite deter- 
mined that Aunt Francesca should be able to find no 
fault with her housekeeping. 

When she went back, there were no signs of Isabel. 
She went from room to room, calling, then concluded 
that she had gone back to the carriage, which was 
waiting outside. 

Rose took measurements for new curtains in all the 
rooms on the lower floor, then climbed the creaking 
stairway. She came upon Isabel in the sitting-room, 
upstairs, standing absorbed before an open desk. In 
her hand she held something which gleamed brightly 
even in the gathering shadow. 

“ Isabel !” she cried, in astonishment. 

The girl turned and came forward. Her eyes were 
sparkling. “Look! There’s a secret drawer in the 
desk and I found this in it. I love secret drawers, 
don’t you?” 

“I never have looked for them in other people’s 
houses,” Rose answered, coldly. 

“I never have either,” retorted Isabel, “except 
when I’ve been invited to clean other people’s houses. ” 

There was something so incongruous in the idea of 
Isabel cleaning a house that Rose laughed and the 
awkward moment quickly passed. 

“Look,” said Isabel, again. 

Rose took it from her hand — a lovely miniature 
framed in brilliants. A sweet, old-fashioned face was 
pictured upon the ivory in delicate colours — that of a 
girl in her early twenties, with her smooth, dark hair 
drawn back over her ears. A scarf of real lace was 
exquisitely painted upon the dark background of 


XPdelcome f>ome 


21 


her gown. The longing eyes held Rose transfixed 
for an instant before she noted the wistful, childish 
droop of the mouth. The girl who had posed for the 
miniature, if she had been truthfully portrayed, had 
not had all that she asked from life. 

“Look at this,” Isabel continued. 

She offered Rose a bit of knitting work, from which 
the dust of years fell lightly. It had once been white, 
and the needles were still there, grey and spotted with 
rust. Rose guessed that the bit had been intended for 
a baby’s shoe, but never finished. The little shoe had 
waited, all those years, for hands that never came 
back from the agony in which they wrung themselves 
to death in the room beyond. 

The infinite pity of it stirred Rose to quick tears, 
but Isabel was unmoved. “Here’s something else,” 
she said. 

She shook the dust from an old-fashioned daguer- 
reotype case, then opened it. On the left side was a 
young soldier in uniform, full length — a dashing, 
handsome figure with one hand upon a drawn sword. 
Printed in faded gilt upon the dusty red satin that 
made up the other half of the case, the words were 
still distinct: “To Colonel Richard Kent, from his 
friend, Jean Bernard.” 

“Jean Bernard!” Isabel repeated, curiously. “Who 
was he?” 

“Aunt Francesca’s husband,” answered Rose, with 
a little catch in her voice, “and my uncle. He died in 
the War.” 

“Oh,” said Isabel, unmoved. “He was nice look- 
ing, wasn’t he? Shall we take this to Aunt Francesca?” 

“You forget that it isn’t ours to take,” Rose re- 
minded her. “And, by the way, Isabel, you must 


22 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


never speak to Aunt Francesca of her husband. She 
cannot bear it. ” 

“All right, ” assented the girl. “What is this?” 

From the back of the drawer she took out a bronze 
medal, with a faded ribbon of red, white, and blue 
attached to it. She took it to the light, rubbed it 
with her handkerchief! and slowly made out the 
words: “Awarded to Colonel Richard Kent, for 
conspicuous bravery in action at Gettysburg.” 

“Put the things back,” Rose suggested, gently. 

This tiny, secret drawer, Colonel Kent’s holy of 
holies, symbolised and epitomised the best of a man’s 
life. The medal for military service, the miniature of 
his wife, the picture of his friend, and the bit of knit- 
ting work that comprehended a world of love and 
anguish and bereavement — these were the hidden 
chambers of his heart. 

Isabel took up the miniature again before she 
closed the drawer. “Do you suppose those are 
diamonds ?” 

“ No ; only brilliants. ” 

“I thought so. If they’d been diamonds, he would 
never have left them here. ” 

“On the contrary,” answered Rose, “I’m very sure 
he would.” She had met Colonel Kent only a few 
times, years ago, during the Summer he had spent at 
home while Allison was still abroad, but she knew him 
now, nevertheless. 

They went on through the house, making notes of 
what was needed, while their footsteps echoed and 
re-echoed through the empty rooms. “I’m glad there 
are no carpets, except on the stairs,” said Rose, “for 
rugs are much easier to clean. It resolves itself 
simply into three C’s — coal, curtains, and cleaning. 


XKHelcome Ibornc 


23 


It won’t take long, if we can get enough people to 
work at it.” 

It was almost dusk when they went downstairs, 
but the cold slanting sunbeams of a Winter after- 
noon came through the grimy windows and illumined 
the gloomy depths of the open fireplace in the hall. 
Motes danced in the beam, and the house somehow 
seemed less despairing, less alone. A portrait of 
Colonel Kent, in uniform, hung above the great 
mantel. Rose smiled at it with comprehension, but 
the painted lips did not answer, nor the unseeing eyes 
swerve from their steady searching of Beyond. 

“How was it?” asked Madame, when they reached 
home. ‘ 1 Dirty and bad ? ” 

“Rather soiled,” admitted Rose. 

“And colder than Greenland,” Isabel continued, 
warming her hands at the open fire. 

“We’ll soon change all that, ” Madame said. “ I’ve 
ordered coal and engaged people to do the cleaning 
since you’ve been gone, and I have my eye upon two 
permanent retainers, provided their references are 
satisfactory. ” 

“I’ve measured for all the curtains, ” Rose went on. 
“Shall we make them or buy them?” 

“We’ll make them. If we have help enough we 
can get them done in time. ” 

The following day a small army, with Rose at the 
head of it, took possession of the house. Every night 
she came home exhausted, not from actual toil, but 
from the effort to instil the pride of good service into 
unwilling workers who seemed to rejoice in ignorance. 

“I’m tired,” Rose remarked, one night. “I’ve 
cerebrated all day for seven bodies besides my own 
and I find it wearing. ” 


*4 


®K> IRose a n& Silver 


“I don’t wonder,” answered Madame. “I'll go 
over to-morrow and let you rest. ” 

“Indeed you won’t,” declared Rose, with emphasis. 
“I’ve begun it and I’m going to finish it unless the 
Seven Weary Workers fail me absolutely. ” 

At last the task was completed, and even Rose 
could find no speck of dust in the entire establishment. 
The house was fresh with the smell of soap-suds and 
floor wax and so warm that several windows had to be 
kept open. The cablegram had come while the cur- 
tains were being made, but everything was ready 
two days before the wayfarers could possibly reach 
home. 

On the appointed day, Rose and Isabel were almost 
as excited as Madame Bernard herself. She had 
chosen to go over alone to greet the Colonel and his 
son. They were expected to arrive about four in the 
afternoon. 

At three, Madame set forth in her carriage. She 
wore her best gown, of lavender cr£pe, trimmed with 
real lace, and a bunch of heliotrope at her belt. Rose 
had twined a few sprays of heliotrope into her snowy 
hair, and a large amethyst cross hung from her neck by 
a slender silver chain. She wore no other jewels 
except her wedding-ring. 

Fires blazed cheerily in every fireplace on the 
lower floor, and there was another in the sitting-room 
upstairs. She had filled the house with the flowers of 
Spring — violets, daffodils, and lilies of the valley. A 
silver tea-kettle with a lamp under it waited on the 
library table. 

When she heard the wheels creaking in the snowy 
road, Madame lighted the lamp under the kettle with 
her own hands, then opened the door wide. Followed 


^Welcome f>ome 


25 

by their baggage, the two men came up the walk — 
father and son. 

The Colonel was a little older, possibly, but still 
straight and tall — almost as tall as the son who 
walked beside him, carrying a violin case under his 
arm. He wore the familiar slouch hat, the same loose 
overcoat, and the same silvery goatee, trimmed most 
carefully. His blue eyes lighted up warmly at the 
sight of the figure in the doorway. 

“Welcome home!” cried Madame Francesca, 
stretching a hand toward each. “Welcome home!’’ 

Allison only smiled, taking the little hand in his 
strong young clasp, but his father bent, hat in hand, 
to kiss the one she offered him. 

“Oh/’ cried Madame, “ I’m so glad to see yoti both. 
Come in!” 

They entered their own hospitable house, where 
fires blazed and the kettle sang. “Say, ” said Allison, 
“isn’t this great! Why did we ever leave it? Isn’t 
it fine, Father?” 

But “father” still had his eyes upon the dainty 
little lady who had brought forth the miracle of home 
from a wilderness of dust and ashes. He bent again 
over the small, white hand. 

“A woman, a fire, and a singing kettle,” he said. 
“All the dear, familiar spirits of the house to welcome 
us home. ” 


Ill 


Cbe Wei ce of tbe Wiolin 

Madame Bernard and Isabel had not yet come down 
when Rose entered the living-room, half an hour before 
dinner. The candles were lighted, and in the soft 
glow of the reading lamp was a vase of pink roses, sent 
by Colonel Kent to his old friend. The delicate 
sweetness filled the room and mingled with the faint 
scent of attar of roses and dried rose petals which, as 
always, hung about the woman who stood by the table, 
idly rearranging the flowers. 

The ruby ring caught the light and sent tiny 
crimson gleams dancing into the far shadows. Her 
cr&pe gown was almost the colour of the ruby, warm 
and blood-red. It was cut low at the throat, and an 
old Oriental necklace of wonderfully wrought gold was 
the only ornament she wore, aside from the ring. The 
low light gave the colour of the gown back to her 
face, beautiful as always, and in her dusky hair she 
had a single crimson rose. 

Aunt Francesca had said that the Colonel was very 
much pleased with the house and glad to be at home 
again. She had sent over her own cook to prepare 
their first dinner, which, however, she had declined to 
share, contenting herself with ordering a feast suited 
to the Colonel’s taste. To-night, they were to dine 
with her and meet the other members of her household. 

26 


Zbc IDoice of tbe tittoltn 


*7 


Madame came in gowned in lustreless white, with 
heliotrope at her belt and in her hair. She wore a 
quaintly wrought necklace of amethysts set in silver, 
and silver buckles, set with amethysts, on her white 
shoes. More than once Rose had laughingly accused 
her of being vain of her feet. 

“Why shouldn't I be vain?” she had retorted, in 
self-defence. “Aren’t they pretty? ” 

“Of course they are,” smiled Rose, bending down 
to kiss her. “They're the prettiest little feet in all 
the world.” 

Madame's fancy ran seriously to shoes and stock- 
ings, of which she had a marvellous collection. Silk 
stockings in grey and white, and in all shades of 
lavender and purple, embroidered and plain, with 
shoes to match in satin and sudde, occupied a goodly 
space in her wardrobe. At Christmas-time and on her 
birthday, Rose always gave her more, for it was the 
one gift which could never fail to please. 

“How lovely the house is,” said Madame, looking 
around appreciatively. “I hope the dinner will be 
good.” 

“I’ve never known it to be otherwise,” Rose 
assured her. 

“Am I all right? Is my skirt even?” 

“You are absolutely perfect, Aunt Francesca.” 

“Then play to me, my dear. If my outward 
semblance is in keeping, please put my mind into a 
holiday mood. ” 

Rose ran her fingers lightly over the keys. “What 
shall I play?” 

“Anything with a tune to it, and not too loud.” 

Smiling, Rose began one of the simple melodies that 
Aunt Francesca loved : 


©R> tRose anb Silver 


38 




Suddenly, she turned away from the piano. Her 
elbow, falling upon the keys, made a harsh dissonance. 
“ Isabel, my dear! ” she cried. “Aren’t you almost too 
gorgeous?” 

v The girl stood in the open door, framed like a 
portrait, against the dull red background of the hall. 
Her gown was white net, shot and spangled with 
silver, over lustrous white silk. A comb, of filigree 
silver, strikingly lovely in her dark hair, was her only 
ornament except a large turquoise, set in dull silver, 
at her throat. 

“I’m not overdressed, am I?” she asked, with an 
eager look at Madame. 

“ Not if it suits you. Come here, <dear. ” 

Isabel obeyed, turning around slowly for inspection. 
Almost instantly it was evident that Madame ap- 


XT be IDoice of tbe HHoUtt 


e 9 


proved. So did Rose, after she saw how the gown 
made Isabel’s eyes sparkle and brought out the 
delicate fairness of her skin. 

“You do suit yourself; there’s no question about 
that, but you’re gorgeous, nevertheless.” Thus Rose 
made atonement for her first impulsive speech. 

Mr. Boffin came in, with a blue ribbon around his 
neck, and helped himself to Aunt Francesca’s chair. 
Isabel rocked him and he got down, without undue 
haste. He marched over to a straight-backed chair 
with a cushion in it; glared at Isabel for a moment 
with his inscrutable topaz eyes, then began to 
purr. 

The clock chimed seven silvery notes. Madame 
Bernard waved her white lace fan impatiently. “It’s 
the psychological moment,” Rose observed. “Why 
don’t they come?” 

“It’s Allison’s fault, if they’re late,” Madame 
assured her. “I could always set my watch by the 
Colonel. He — there, what did I tell you?” she con- 
cluded triumphantly, as footsteps sounded outside. 

When the guests were ushered in, Madame ad- 
vanced to meet them. The firelight had brought a 
rosy glow to her lovely face, and her deep eyes smiled. 
Allison put his violin case in a comer before he spoke 
to her. 

“Did you really?” asked Madame. “How kind 
you are!” 

“I brought it,” laughed the young man, “just 
because you didn’t ask me to.” 

“ Do you always, ” queried Rose, after he had been 
duly presented to her, “do the things you’re not asked 
to do?” 

“Invariably,” he replied. 


30 


®l& tRosc an& Stiver 


41 Allison,* * said Madame, “I want you to meet my 
niece once removed — Miss Ross. ” The Colonel had 
already bowed to Isabel and was renewing his old 
acquaintance with Rose. 

41 Not Isabel,” said Allison, in astonishment. 

44 Yes,” answered the girl, her eyes sparkling with 
excitement, “it's Isabel.” 

44 Why, little playmate, how did you ever dare to 
grow up?” 

44 1 had nothing else to do.” 

44 But I didn’t want you to grow up,” he objected. 

44 You’ve grown up some yourself,” she retorted. 

44 1 suppose I have, ” he sighed. 44 What a pity that 
the clock won’t stand still!” 

Yet, to Madame, he did not seem to have changed 
much. He was taller, and more mature in every way, 
of course. She noted with satisfaction that he had 
gained control of his hands and feet, but he had the 
same boyish face, the same square, well-moulded chin, 
and the same nice brown eyes. Only his slender, 
nervous hands betrayed the violinist. 

4 4 Well, are you pleased with me?” he asked of 
Madame, his eyes twinkling. 

44 Yes,” she answered with a faint flush. 44 If you 
had worn long hair and a velvet collar, I should never 
have forgiven you.” 

Colonel Kent laughed outright. 44 1 should never 
have dared to bring him back to you, Francesca, if 
he had fallen so low. We’re Americans, and please 
God, we’ll stay Americans, won’t we, lad?” 

44 You bet,” answered Allison, boyishly, going over 
to salute Mr. Boffin. 44 ‘But in spite of all tempta- 
tions to belong to other nations, I’m an Am-er-i-can, ’ ’* 
he sang, under his breath. Through the mysteries* 


XEbe IDofce of tbe UHolfn 


3 * 


workings of some sixth sense, Mr. Boffin perceived 
approaching trouble and made a hurried escape. 

“Will you look at that?’* asked Allison, with a 
hearty laugh. “I hadn’t even touched him and he 
became suspicious of me. ” 

“As I remember,” Madame said, “my cats never 
got on very well with you. ” 

“I don’t like them either,” put in Isabel. 

“I like ’em, ” Allison said. “I like ’em a whole lot, 
but it isn’t mutual, and I never could understand 
why. ” 

At dinner, it seemed as though they all talked at 
once. Madame and the Colonel had a separate 
conversation of their own, while Allison “reminisced” 
with Isabel, as he said, and asked numerous questions 
of Rose in regard to the neighbours. 

“ Please tell me, ” he said, “what has become of the 
Crosby twins?” 

“They’re flourishing,” Rose answered. 

“You don’t mean it! What little devils they 
were!” 

“Are," corrected Rose. 

“Who are the Crosby twins?” inquired Isabel. 

“They’ll probably call on you,” Rose replied, “so 
I won’t spoil it by endeavouring to describe them. 
The language fails to do them justice. ” 

“What were their names?” mused Allison. “Let 
me see. Oh, yes, Romeo and Juliet. ” 

“ ‘Romie' and ‘Jule’ by affectionate abbrevia- 
tion, to each other,” Rose added. “Did you know 
that an uncle died in Australia and left them a small 
fortune?” 

“No, I didn’t. What are they doing with it?” 

“Do you remember, when you were a child, how 


32 ©R> IRose aitb Stiver 

you used to plan what you’d do with unlimited 
wealth?” 

Allison nodded. 

“Well,” Rose resumed, “that’s just what they’re 
doing with it. They have only the income now, but 
this Fall, when they’re twenty-one, they’ll come into 
possession of the principal. I prophesy bankruptcy 
in five years. ” 

“Even so,” he smiled, “they’ll doubtless have 
pleasant memories. ” 

“What satisfaction do you think there will be in 
that?” queried Isabel. 

“I can’t answer just now,” Allison replied, “but 
the minute I’m bankrupt, I'll come and tell you. It’s 
likely to happen to me at any time. ” 

Meanwhile Colonel Kent was expressing the pleas- 
ure he had found in his well-appointed household. 
“Was it very much trouble, Francesca?” 

“None at all — to me.” 

“You always were wonderful.” 

“You see,” she smiled, “I didn’t do it. Rose did 
everything. I merely went over at the last to arrange 
the flowers, make the tea, and receive the credit. ” 

“ And to welcome us home, ” he added. “ They say 
a fireplace is the heart of a house, but I think a woman 
is the soul of it. ” 

“Then the soul of it was there, waiting, wasn’t it?” 

“But only for a little while,” he sighed. “I am 
very lonely sometimes, in spite of the boy. ” 

Francesca’s blue eyes became misty. “When a 
door in your heart is closed, ” she said, “turn the key 
and go away. Opening it only brings pain. ” 

“I know,” he answered, clearing his throat. 
“You’ve told me that before and I’ve often thought 


Ube IDoice of tbe IDiolfn 


33 


of it. Yet sometimes it seems as though all of life 
was behind that door. ” 

“Ah, but it isn’t. Your son and at least one tr?ie 
friend are outside. Listen ! ’ ’ 

“No,” Allison was saying, “I got well acquainted 
with surprisingly few people over there. You see, I 
always chummed with Dad. ” 

“Bless him,” said Francesca, impulsively. 

“Have I done well?” asked the Colonel, anxiously. 
“It was hard work, alone.” 

“Indeed you have done well. I hear that he is a 
great artist. ” 

“ He’s more than that — he’s a man. He’s clean and 
a good shot, and he isn’t afraid of anything. Someway, 
to me, a man who played the fiddle always seemed, 
well — ladylike, you know. But Allison isn’t. ” 

“No,” answered Francesca, demurely, “he isn’t. 
Do I infer that it is a disgrace to be ladylike?” 

“Not for a woman,” laughed the Colonel. “Why 
do you pretend to misunderstand me? You always 
know what I mean. ” 

After dinner, when the coffee had been served, 
Allison took out his violin, of his own accord. “You 
haven’t asked me to play, but I’m going to. Who is 
going to play my accompaniment? Don’t all speak 
at once.” 

Rose went to the piano and looked over his music. 
“I’ll try. Fortunately I’m familiar with some of 
this.” 

His first notes came with a clearness and authority 
for which she was wholly unprepared. She followed the 
accompaniment almost perfectly, but mechanically, 
lost as she was in the wonder and delight of his play- 
ing. The exquisite harmony seemed to be the inmost 


34 


©15 IRose an5 Stiver 


soul of the violin, speaking at last, through forgotten 
ages, of things made with the world — Love and Death 
and Parting. Above it and through it hovered a spirit 
of longing, infinite and untranslatable, yet clear as 
some high call. 

Subtly, Rose answered to it. In some mysterious 
way, she seemed set free from bondage. Unsuspected 
fetters loosened ; she had a sense of largeness, of free- 
dom which she had never known before. She was 
quivering in an ecstasy of emotion when the last chord 
came. 

For an instant there was silence, then Isabel spoke. 
"How well you play!” she said, politely. 

”1 ought to,” Allison replied, modestly. “I’ve 
worked hard enough. ” 

“ How long have you been studying? ” 

“ Thirty years, ” he answered. ‘‘That is, I feel as if 
I had been at work all my life. ” 

‘‘How funny!” exclaimed Isabel. “Are you 
thirty?” 

“Just,” he said. 

“Then Cousin Rose and I are like steps, with you 
half way between us. I’m twenty and she’s forty,” 
smiled Isabel, with childlike frankness. 

Rose bit her lips, then the colour flamed into her 
face. “Yes,” she said, to break an awkward pause, 
“I’m forty. Old Rose,” she added, with a forced 
smile. 

“Nonsense,” said Allison quickly. “How can a 
rose be old?” 

“Or,” continued the Colonel, with an air of old- 
world gallantry, “how can earth itself be any older, 
having borne so fair a rose upon its breast for forty 
years?” 


Ubc IDotce of tbe Dfolin 


35 

“ Thank you both, ” responded Rose, her high colour 
receding. 1 ‘ Shall we play again? ” 

While they were turning over the music Madame 
grappled with a temptation to rebuke Isabel then 
and there. “Not fit for a parlour yet, ” she thought. 
4t Ought to be in the nursery on a bread-and-milk diet 
and put to bed at six. ” 

For her part, Isabel dimly discerned that she had 
said something awkward, and felt vaguely uncom- 
fortable. She was sorry if she had made a social 
mistake and determined to apologise afterward, 
though she disliked apologies. 

Allison was playing again, differently, yet in the 
same way. Through the violin sounded the same high 
call to Rose. Life assumed a new breadth and value, as 
from a newly discovered dimension. She had been 
in it, yet not of it, until now. She was merged in- 
sensibly with something vast and universal, finite yet 
infinite, unknown and undreamed-of an hour ago. 

She was quite pale when they finished. “You’re 
tired, ’’ he said. “I’m sorry. ” 

“I’m not,’’ she denied, vigorously. 

“But you are,’’ he insisted. “Don’t you suppose 
I can see?” His eyes met hers for the moment, 
clearly, and, once more, she answered an unspoken 
summons in some silent way. The room turned 
slowly before her; their faces became white spots in a 
mist. 

“ You play well, ” Allison was saying. “ I wish you’d 
let me work with you. ” 

“I’ll be glad to,” Rose answered, with lips that 
scarcely moved. 

“Will you help me work up my programmes for next 
season?” 


36 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


“Indeed I will. Don’t stop now, please— really, 
I’m not tired. ” 

While she was still protesting, he led her away from 
the piano to an easy chair. “ Sit there, ” he said, “ and 
I’ll do the work. Those accompaniments are heavy. ” 

He went back to his violin, tightened a string, 
and began to play alone. The melody was as delicate 
in structure as the instrument itself, yet strangely full 
of longing. Slowly the violin gave back the music of 
which it was made; the wind in the forest, the sound of 
many waters, moonlight shimmering through green 
aisles of forest, the mating calls of Spring. And again, 
through it all, surged some great question to which 
Rose thrilled in unspoken answer; a great prayer, 
which, in some secret way, she shared. 

It came to an end at last when she felt that she 
could bear no more. “ What is it?” she forced herself 
to ask. 

“I haven’t named it,” he replied, putting down his 
violin. 

“Is — is it — yours?” 

1 * Of course. Why not ? * ’ 

Isabel came to the piano and took up the violin. 
“May I look at it?” 

“Certainly.” 

She stroked the brown breasts curiously and 
twanged the strings as though it were a banjo. “ What 
make is it?” 

“Cremona. Dad gave it to me for Christmas, a 
long time ago. It belonged to an old man who died 
of a broken heart. ” 

“ What broke his heart?” queried Isabel, carelessly. 

“One of his hands was hurt in some way, and he 
could play no more. ” 


TOe Dolce of tbe Dtolln 


37 


44 Not much to die of, ” Isabel suggested, practically. 

44 Ah, but you don’t know,” he answered, shaking 
his head. 

Francesca had leaned forward and was speaking to 
Colonel Kent in a low tone. 4 4 1 think that somewhere, 
in the House not Made with Hands, there is a young 
and lovely mother who is very proud of her boy 
to-night. ” 

The Colonel’s fine face took on an unwonted 
tenderness. 44 1 hope so. She left me a sacred 
trust. ” 

Francesca crossed the room, drew the young man’s 
tall head down, and kissed him. 4 4 Well done, dear 
foster-child. Your adopted mother, once removed, is 
fully satisfied with you, and very much pleased with 
herself, being, vicariously, the parent of a great 
artist. ” 

44 1 hope you don’t consider me ‘raised,’ ” replied 
Allison. ‘‘You’re not going to stop ‘mothering’ me, 
are you?” 

44 1 couldn’t,” was her smiling assurance. “I’ve 
got the habit.” 

He seemed very young as he looked down at her. 
Woman-like she loved him, through the man that he 
was, for the child that he had been. 

“Come, lad,” the Colonel suggested, “it’s getting 
late and we want to be invited again.” 

Allison closed his violin case with a snap, said good- 
night to Aunt Francesca, then went over to Rose. 
“I don’t feel like calling you ‘Miss Bernard,’.” he 
said. “Mayn’t I say ‘Cousin Rose,’ as we rejoice in 
the possession of the same Aunt?” 

“Surely,” she answered, colouring faintly. 

4 4 Then good-night, Cousin Rose. I’ll see you soon 


38 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


again, and well begin work. Your days of leisure are 
over now.” 

Isabel offered him a small, cool hand. Her eyes 
were brilliant, brought out by the sparkling silver of 
her gown. She glittered even in the low light of the 
room. “Good-night, Silver Girl,” he said. “You 
haven’t really grown up after all.” 

When the door closed, Rose gathered up the music 
he had forgotten, and put it away. Isabel came to her 
contritely. “Cousin Rose, I’m so sorry I said that! 
I didn’t think!” 

“Don’t bother about it,” Rose replied, kindly. 
“It was nothing at all, and, besides, it’s true.” 

“ ‘Tell the truth and shame the family,’ ” 

misquoted Madame Bernard. “Age and false hair 
are not things to be flaunted, Isabel, remember that. ” 

Isabel flushed at the rebuke, and her cheeks were 
still burning when she went to her room. 

“I don’t care,” she said to herself, with a swift 
change of mood. “ I’m glad I told him. They’d never 
have done it, and it’s just as well for him to know. ” 

Madame Bernard and Rose soon followed her 
example, but Rose could not sleep. Through the 
night the voice of the violin sounded through her 
consciousness, calling, calling, calling — heedless of the 
answer that thrilled her to the depths of her soul. 


IV 


Zb e Crosby Gwfns 

The Crosby twins were making a formal call upon 
Isabel. They had been skating and still carried their 
skates, but Juliet wore white gloves and had pinned 
her unruly hair into some semblance of order while 
they waited at the door. She wore a red tam-o’- 
shanter on her brown curls and a white sweater under 
her dark green skating costume, which was short 
enough to show the heavy little boots, just now filling 
the room with the unpleasant odour of damp leather. 

“Won’t you take off your coat?” asked Isabel. 
“You’ll catch cold when you go out, if you don’t take 
it off.” 

“Thanks,” responded Juliet, somewhat stiffly. 
Then she stretched out both hands to her hostess, 
laughing as she did so. “ Look ! ’ ’ The sweater sleeves 
had crept up to her elbows, displaying several inches 
of bare, red arm between the sleeves and the short 
white gloves. 

“That’s just like us,” remarked Romeo. “If we 
try to be elegant, something always happens.” 

The twins looked very much alike. They were 
quite tall and still retained the dear awkwardness of 
youth, in spite of the near approach of their twenty- 
first birthday. They had light brown curly hair, 
frank blue eyes that met the world with interest and 
39 


40 


®Ib Hose anb Silver 


delight, well-shaped mouths, not too small, and stub- 
born little chins. A high colour bloomed on their 
cheeks and they fairly radiated the joy of living. 

“Can you skate?” inquired Romeo. 

“No," smiled Isabel. 

“ Juliet can. She can skate as far as I can, and 
almost as fast.” 

“Romie taught me,” observed Juliet, with becom- 
ing modesty. 

“Do you play hockey? No, of course you don’t, 
if you don’t skate,” he went on, answering his own 
question. 4 * Can you swim ? ’ ’ 

“No,” responded Isabel, sweetly. 

“Jule’s a fine swimmer. She saved a man’s life 
once, two Summers ago.” 

“Romie taught me,” said Juliet, beaming at her 
brother. 

“Can you row?” he asked, politely. 

“No,” replied Isabel, shortly. “I’m afraid of the 
water.” 

“Juliet can row. She won the women’s canoe race 
in the regatta last Summer. The prize was twenty- 
five dollars in gold. ” 

“Romie taught me,” put in Juliet. 

“We’ll teach you this Summer,” said Romeo, with 
a frank, boyish smile that showed his white teeth. 

“Thank you,” responded Isabel, inwardly vowing 
that they wouldn’t. 

“Juliet can do most everything I can,” went on 
Romeo, with the teacher’s pardonable pride in his 
pupil. “She can climb a tree in her knickers, and 
fish and skate and row and swim and fence, and play 
golf and tennis, and shoot, and dive from a spring- 
board, and she can ride anything that has four legs. ” 


XTbe Crosby XTwfns 


41 


“Romeo taught me,” chanted Juliet, in a voice 
surprisingly like his own. 

There was an awkward pause, then Romeo turned 
to his hostess. “What can you do? ” he asked, mean- 
ing to be deferential. Isabel thought she detected a 
faint trace of sarcasm, so her answer was rather tart. 

“I don’t do many of the things that men do,” she 
said, “but I speak French and German, I can sing and 
play a little, sew and embroider, and trim hats if I 
want to, and paint on china, and do two fancy dances. 
And when I go back home, I’m going to learn to run an 
automobile. ” 

The twins looked at each other. “We never thought 
of it, ” said Juliet, much crestfallen. 

“Wonder how much they cost,” remarked Romeo, 
thoughtfully. 

“ Where can you buy ’em? ” Juliet inquired. “ Any- 
where in town?” 

“ I suppose so, ” Isabel assented. “ Why ? ” 

“Wby?” they repeated together. “We’re going to 
buy one and learn to run it!” 

“You must have lots of money,” said Isabel, 
enviously. 

“ Loads, ” replied Romeo, with the air of a plutocrat. 
“ More than w T e can spend. ” 

“We get our income the first day of every month,” 
explained Juliet, “and put it into the bank, but when 
the next check comes, there’s always some left.” 
They seemed to consider it a mild personal disgrace. 

“WTiy don’t you save it?” queried Isabel. 

“What for?” Romeo demanded, curiously. 

“Why, so you’ll have it if you ever need it.” 

“It keeps right on coming,” Juliet explained, 
pulling down her sweater. “Uncle died in Australia 


42 


©R> TRose ant) Stiver 


and left it to us. He died on the thirtieth of June, 
and we always celebrate. ” 

‘‘Why don’t you celebrate his birthday?" suggested 
Isabel, “instead of the day he died?” 

“His birthday was no good to us,” replied Romeo, 
“but his death-day was. ” 

“But if he hadn’t been born, he couldn’t have 
died,” Isabel objected, more or less logically. 

“And if he hadn’t died, his being born wouldn’t have 
helped us any, ” replied Juliet, with a dazzling smile. 

There was another pause. “Will you have some 
tea?” asked Isabel. 

“With rum in it?” queried Juliet. 

“ I don’t think so, ” said Isabel, doubtfully. “Aunt 
Francesca never does. ” 

“We don’t, either,” Romeo explained, “except 
when it’s very cold, and then only a teaspoonful. ” 

“The doctor said we didn’t need stimulants. What 
was it he said we needed, Romie? ” 

“ Sedatives. ” 

“Yes, that was it — sedatives. I looked it up in the 
dictionary. It means to calm, or to moderate. I 
think he got the word wrong himself, for we don’t 
need to be calmed, or moderated, do we, Romie?” 

“I should say not!” 

The twins sipped their tea in silence and nibbled 
daintily at wafers from the cracker jar. Then, feeling 
that their visit was over, they rose with one accord. 

“We’ve had a dandy time,” said Juliet, crushing 
Isabel’s hand in hers. 

“Bully,” supplemented Romeo. “Come and see 
us.” 

“I will,” Isabel responded, weakly. “How do you 
get there?” 


XTbe Crosby Uwfns 


43 


41 Just walk up the main road and turn to the left. 
It's about three miles. ” 

“Three miles!” gasped Isabel. “I’ll drive out.” 

“Just so you come, ” Romeo said, graciously. “ It’s 
an awful old place. You’ll know it by the chimney 
being blown over and some of the bricks lying on the 
roof. Good-bye. ” 

Juliet turned to wave her hand at Isabel as they 
banged the gate, and Romeo awkwardly doffed his 
cap. Their hostess went up-stairs with a sigh of relief. 
She had the sensation of having quickly closed a 
window upon a brisk March wind. 

The twins set their faces toward home. The three- 
mile walk was nothing to them, even after a day of 
skating. The frosty air nipped Juliet’s cheeks to 
crimson and she sniffed at it with keen delight. 

“It’s nice to be out,” she said, “after being in that 
hot house. What do you think of her, Romie?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied carelessly. “Say, 
how did she have her hair done up?” 

“She had rats in it, and it was curled on a hot 
iron. ” 

“Rats? What in thunder is — or are — that, or 
they?” 

“ Little wads of false hair made into cushiony rolls. ” 

“Did she tell you?” 

“No,” laughed Juliet. “Don’t you suppose I can 
see a rat?” 

“ I thought rats had to be smelled. ” 

“Not this kind.” 

“She smelled of something kind of sweet and sticky. 
What was it?” 

“Sachet powder, I guess, or some kind of perfume. ” 

“I liked the smell. Can we get some?” 


44 


©ID ftose anD Silver 


4 M guess so — we’ve got the price. ” 

“Next time you see her, ask her what it is, will 
you?” 

“All right,” answered Juliet, unperturbed by the 
request. 

The rest of the way was enlivened by a discussion of 
automobiles. Romeo had a hockey match on for the 
following day, which was Saturday, so they were 
compelled to postpone their investigations until 
Monday. It seemed very long to wait. 

“Iris no good now, anyhow,” said Romeo. “We 
can’t run it until the roads melt and dry up. ” 

“That’s so, ” agreed his twin, despondently. “ Why 
did she tell us now? Why couldn’t she wait until we 
had some chance?” 

“I guess we can learn something about it before we 
try to run it,” he observed, cheerfully. “If we can 
get it into the barn, we can take it all apart and see 
how it’s put together. ” 

“ Oh, Romie ! ” cried Juliet, with a little skip. “ How 
perfectly fascinating! And we’ll read all the auto- 
mobile literature we can get hold of. I do so love to 
be posted ! ’ ' 

Upon the death of their father, several years ago, 
the twins had promptly ceased to go to school. The 
kindly ofd minister who had been appointed executor 
of their father’s small estate and guardian of the 
tumultuous twins had been unable to present any 
arguments in favour of systematic education which 
appealed to them even slightly. 

“What good is Latin?” asked Romeo, apparently 
athirst for information. 

“Why — er- — mental discipline, mostly,” the 
harassed guardian had answered. 


XCbe Grosbs Tlwlns 


45 


44 Isn’t there anything we’d like that would discipline 
our minds?” queried Juliet. 

“ I fear not, ” replied the old man, who lacked the 
diplomacy necessary to deal with the twins. Shortly 
after that he had died with so little warning that he 
had only time to make out a check in their favour for 
the balance entrusted to him. The twins had held 
high carnival until the money was almost gone. The 
bequest from the Australian uncle had reached them 
just in time, so, with thankful hearts, they celebrated 
and had done so annually ever since. 

Untrammelled by convention and restraint, they 
thrived like weeds in their ancestral domicile, which 
was now sadly in need of repair. Occasionally some 
daring prank set the neighbourhood by the ears, but, 
for the most part, the twins behaved very well and 
attended strictly to their own affairs. They ate when 
they were hungry, slept when they were sleepy, and, if 
they desired to sit up until four in the morning, read- 
ing, they did so. A woman who had a key to the back 
door came in every morning, at an uncertain hour, to 
wash the dishes, sweep, dust, and to make the beds if 
they chanced to be unoccupied. 

As Romeo had said, the chimney had blown down 
and several loose bricks lay upon the roof. They had 
a small vegetable garden, fenced in, and an itinerant 
gardener looked after it, in Summer, but they had no 
flowers, because they maintained a large herd of stray 
dogs, mostly mongrels, that would have had no home 
had it not been for the hospitable twins. Romeo 
bought the choicest cuts of beef for them and fed 
them himself. Occasionally they added another to 
their collection and, at the last census, had nineteen. 

Their house would have delighted Madame Ber- 


46 


®R> IRose an& Stiver 


nard — it was so eminently harmonious and suitable. 
The ragged carpets showed the floor in many places, 
and there were no curtains at any of the windows. 
Romeo cherished a masculine distaste for curtains and 
Juliet did not trouble herself to oppose him. The 
furniture was old and most of it was broken. The 
large easy chair in the sitting-room was almost 
disembowelled, and springs showed through the sofa, 
except in the middle, where there was a cavernous 
depression. Several really fine paintings adorned the 
walls, and the dingy mantel was glorified by exquisite 
bits of Cloisonne and iridescent glass, for which 
Juliet had a pronounced fancy. 

“Set the table, will you, Romie?” called Juliet, 
tying a large blue gingham apron over her sweater. 
“I’m almost starved. ” 

“So’m I, but I’ve got to feed the dogs first.” 

“Let ’em wait,” pleaded Juliet. “Please do!” 

“Don’t be so selfish! They’re worse off than we 
are, for they haven’t even had tea. ” 

While the pack fought, outside, for rib bones and 
raw steak, Juliet opened a can of salmon, fried some 
potatoes, put a clean spoon into a jar of jam, and cut 
a loaf of bread into thick slices. When Romeo 
came in, he set the table, made coffee, and opened a 
can of condensed milk. They disdained to wash 
dishes, but cleared off the table, after supper, lighted 
the lamp, and talked automobile until almost 
midnight. 

In less than an hour, Romeo had completed the 
plans for remodelling the bam. They had no horse, 
but as a few bits of harness remained from the last 
equine incumbent, they usually alluded to the bam as 
“the bridle chamber.” 


Ube Crosbs Uwins 


47 

1 1 We’ll have to name the barn again, ” mused Juliet, 
‘‘and we can name the automobile, too.” 

“Wait until we get it. What colour shall we 
have?” 

“They’re usually red or black, aren’t they?” she 
asked, doubtfully. 

“I guess so. We want ours different, don’t we?” 

“Sure. We want something that nobody ever had 
before — something bright and cheerful. Oh, Romie, ” 
she continued, jumping up and down in excitement, 
“let’s have it bright yellow and call it ‘The Yellow 
Peril’!” 

Her twin offered her a friendly hand. “Jule,” he 
said solemnly, “you’re a genius!” 

“We’ll have brown leather inside, and get brown 
clothes to match. Brown hats with yellow bands on 
’em — won’t it be perfectly scrumptious?” 

“Scrumptious is no word for it. Shall we have two 
seats or four?” 

“Four, of course. A two-seated automobile looks 
terribly selfish. ” 

“Stingy, too,” murmured Romeo, “and we can 
afford the best.” 

“Do you know,” Juliet suggested, after deep 
thought, “I think it would be nice of us if we waited 
to take our first ride until we celebrate for Uncle? ” 

“It would,” admitted Romeo, gloomily, “but it’s 
such a long time to wait. ” 

“We can learn to run it here in the yard — there’s 
plenty of room. And on the thirtieth of June, we’ll 
take our first real ride in it. Be a sport, Romie,” she 
urged, as he maintained an unhappy silence. 

“All right — I will,” he said, grudgingly. “But I 
hope Uncle appreciates what we’re doing for him.” 


48 


®16 IRose ant) Stiver 


44 That's settled, then,” she responded, cheerfully. 
“Then, on our second ride, we’ll take somebody with 
us. Who shall we invite?” 

“Oughtn’t she to go with us the first time?” 

“She? Who’s ‘she’?” 

“Miss Ross — Isabel. She suggested it, you know. 
We might not have thought of it for years. ” 

Juliet pondered. “I don’t believe she ought to go 
the first time, because the day that Uncle died doesn’t 
mean anything to her, and it’s everything to us. But 
we’ll take her on the second trip. Shall I write to her 
now and invite her?” 

“I don’t believe,” Romeo responded, dryly, “that 
I’d stop to write an invitation to somebody to go out 
four months from now in an automobile that isn’t 
bought yet.” 

“But it’s as good as bought,” objected Juliet, 
“because our minds are made up. We may forget 
to ask her. ” 

“Put it on the slate,” suggested Romeo. 

In the hall, near the door, was a large slate sus- 
pended by a wire. The pencil was tied to it. Here 
they put down vagrant memoranda and things they 
planned to acquire in the near future. 

Juliet observed that there was only one entry on 
the slate : ‘ ‘ Military hair-brushes f or R . ” U ndemeath 
she wrote: “Yellow automobile, four-seated. Name 
it ‘The Yellow Peril.’ Brown leather inside. Get 
brown clothes to match and trim with yellow. First 
ride, June thirtieth, for Uncle. Second ride, July first, 
for ourselves. Invite Isabel Ross. ” 

“Anything else?” she asked, after reading it aloud. 

‘‘Dog biscuit,” yawned Romeo. “They’re eating 
too much meat. ” 


Ubc Crosby Uvoirxe 


49 


It was very late when they went up-stairs. Their 
rooms were across the hall from each other and they 
slept with the doors open. The attic had been made 
into a gymnasium, where they exercised and hardened 
their muscles when the weather kept them indoors. 
A trapeze had been recently put up, and Juliet was 
learning to swing by her feet. 

She lifted her face up to his and received a brotherly 
peck on the lips. “ Good-night, Jule. ” 

“Good-night, Romie. Pleasant dreams.” 

It was really morning, but there was no clock to tell 
them so, for the timepieces in the Crosby mansion 
were seldom wound. 

“Say,” called Romeo. 

“What?” 

“What do you think of her?” 

“Who?” 

‘ * Mi ss — you know. Isabel. * * 

“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Juliet, sleepily. 
if l guess she’s kind of a sissy-girl.” 


4 


Tin Hfternoon $all 


“Aunt Francesca/’ asked Isabel, “is Colonel Kent 
rich?’* 

“Very,” responded Madame. She had a fine 
damask napkin stretched upon embroidery hoops and 
was darning it with the most exquisite of stitches. 

“Then why don’t they live in a better house and 
have more servants? That place is old and musty.” 

“Perhaps they like to live there, and, again, per- 
haps they haven’t enough money to change. Besides, 
that has been Colonel Kent’s home ever since he was 
married. Allison was bom there. ” 

Isabel fidgeted in her chair. “If they’re very rich, 
I should think they’d have enough money to enable 
them to move into a better house. ” 

“ Oh, ” replied Madame, carefully cutting her thread 
on the underside, “I wasn’t thinking of money when 
I spoke. I don’t know anything about their private 
affairs. But Colonel Kent has courage, sincerity, an 
old-fashioned standard of honour, many friends, and 
a son who is a great artist. ” 

The girl was silent, for intangible riches did not 
appeal to her strongly. 

“Allison is like him in many ways/’ Madame was 
Jsaying. “ He is like his mother, too. ” 

“When is he going away?” 


Bn Btternoon Call 


51 


11 In September or October, I suppose — the begin- 
ning of the season.” 

“Is he going to play everywhere?” 

“Everywhere of any importance.” 

“Perhaps,” mused Isabel, “he will make a great 
deal of money himself.” 

“Perhaps,” Madame responded, absently. “I do 
hope he will be successful. ” She had almost maternal 
pride in her foster son. 

“Is Cousin Rose going, too?” 

“Going where? What do you mean, dear?” 

“Why, nothing. Only I heard him ask her if she 
would go with him on his concert tour and play his 
accompaniments, providing you or the Colonel went 
along for chaperone, and Cousin Rose laughed and 
said she didn’t need a chaperone — that she was old 
enough to make it quite respectable.” 

“And — ” suggested Madame. 

“Allison laughed, too, and said: ‘Nonsense!’ ” 

“If they are going,” said Madame, half to herself, 
“and decide to take me along, I hope they’ll give me 
sufficient time to pack things decently. ” 

“Would the Colonel go, if you went?” 

“ I hardly think so. It wouldn't be quite so proper. ” 

“I don’t understand,” remarked Isabel, wrinkling 
her pretty brows. 

“I don't either,” Madame replied, confidentially. 
“However, I’ve lived long enough to learn that the 
conventions of society are all in the interests of 
morality. If you’re conventional, you’ll be good, in 
a negative sense, of course.” 

“How do you mean, Aunt Francesca?” 

“Perfect manners are diametrically opposed to 
crime. For instance, it is very bad form for a man to 


©16 IRose an& surer 


52 

shoot a lady, or even to write another man’s name on 
a check and cash it. It saves trouble to be conven- 
tional, for you’re not always explaining things. Most 
of the startling items we read in the newspapers are 
serious lapses from conventionality and good manners. ’ ’ 

“The Crosbys aren’t very conventional,” Isabel 
suggested. 

“No,” smiled Madame, “they’re not, but their 
manners proceed from the most kindly and friendly 
instincts, consequently they’re seldom in error, 
essentially. ” 

“They have lots of money, haven’t they?” 

“I have sometimes thought that the Crosbys had 
more than their age and social training fitted them 
to use wisely, but I’ve never known them to go far 
astray. They’ve done foolish things, but I’ve never 
known either to do a wrong or selfish thing. Money 
is a terrible test of character, but I think the twins 
will survive it.” 

“ I suppose they’ve done lots of funny things with 
it.” 

Madame’s eyes danced and little smiles wrinkled 
the corners of her mouth. “On the Fourth of July, 
last year, they presented every orphan in the Orphans’ 
Home with two dollars’ worth of fireworks, carefully 
chosen. Of course the inevitable happened and the 
orphans managed to set fire to the home, but, after 
two hours of hard work, the place was saved. Some 
of the children were slightly injured during the 
celebration, but that didn’t matter, because as Juliet 
said, they’d had a good time, anyway, and it would 
give them something to talk about in years to come. ” 

“It would have been better to spend the money on 
shoes, wouldn’t it?” 


Hit Hfternoon Gall 


r 53 


"I don’t know, my dear. The finest gift in the 
world is pleasure. Sometimes I think it’s better to 
feed the soul and let the body fast. There is a time in 
life when one brief sky-rocket can produce more joy 
than ten pairs of shoes. ” 

Isabel smiled and glanced at Madame Bernard’s 
lavender satin slipper. The old lady laughed and the 
soft colour came into her pretty face. 

“I frankly admit that I’ve passed it,” she said. 
4 1 Better one pair of shoes than ten sky-rockets, if the 
shoes are the sort I like. ” 

44 Do they come often?” queried Isabel, reverting 
to the subject of the twins. 

44 Not as often as I’d like to have them, but it 
doesn’t do to urge them. I can only keep my windows 
open and let the wind from the clover field blow in as 
it will.” 

41 Do they live near a clover field?” inquired Isabel, 
perplexed. 

“No, but they remind me of it — they’re so breezy 
and wholesome, so free and untrammelled, and, at 
heart, so sweet.” 

“I hope they’ll come again soon.” 

44 So do I, for I don’t want you to be lonely, Isabel. 
It was good of your mother to let you come.” 

44 Mamma doesn't care what I do,” observed 
Isabel, placidly. 44 She’s always busy. ” 

Madame Bernard checked the sharp retort that 
rose to her lips. What Isabel had said was quite true. 
Mrs. Ross was so interested in what she called “The 
New Thought” and 44 The Higher World Service” 
that she had neither time nor inclination for the old 
thought and simple service that make — and keep — a 
home. 


54 


©ib IRose a nb Silver 


From the time she could dress herself and put 
up her own hair, Isabel had been left much to herself. 
Her mother supplied her liberally with money for 
clothes and considered that her duty to her daughter 
ended there. They lived in an apartment hotel and 
had their coffee served in their rooms in the morning. 
After that, Isabel was left to her own devices, for 
committees and directors* meetings without number 
claimed her mother. 

More often than not, Isabel dined alone in the big 
dining-room downstairs, and spent a lonely evening 
with a novel and a box of chocolates. On pleasant 
days, she amused herself by going through the shops 
and to the matinee. She did not make friends easily, 
and the splendid isolation common to hotels and 
desert islands left her stranded, socially. She had 
been very glad to accept Aunt Francesca’s invitation, 
and the mother, looking back through her years of 
*' ‘world service” to the quiet old house and dream- 
haunted garden, had thought it would be a good place 
for Isabel for a time, and had hoped she might not find 
it too dull to endure. 

Madame Bernard had no patience with Mrs. Ross. 
When she had come for a brief holiday, fifteen years 
before, bringing her child with her, she had just 
begun to be influenced by the modem feminine 
unrest. Later she had definitely allied herself with 
those whose mission it is to emancipate Woman — 
with a capital W — from her chains, forgetting that 
these are of her own forging, and anchor her to the 
eternal verities of earth and heaven. 

A single swift stroke had freed Mrs. Ross from her 
own “ bondage.” Isabel’s father had died, while her 
mother was out upon a lecturing tour — in a hotel, 


Hn Hftetnoon Call 


55 


which is the most miserable place in the world to die 
in. The housekeeper and chambermaids had be- 
friended Isabel until the tour came to its triumphant 
conclusion. Mrs. Ross had seemed to consider the 
whole affair a kindly and appropriate recognition of 
her abilities, on the part of Providence. She attempted 
to fit Isabel for the duties of a private secretary, but 
failed miserably, and, greatly to Isabel’s relief, gave 
up the idea. 

Madame Bernard had looked forward to Isabel’s 
visit with a certain apprehension, remembering Mrs. 
Ross’s unbecoming gowns and careless coiffures. But 
the girl’s passion for clothes, amounting almost to a 
complete “reversion to type,” had at once relieved 
and alarmed her. “ If I can strike a balance for her, ” 
she had said to herself in a certain midnight musing, 
“I shall do very well. ” 

As yet, however, Isabel had failed to “balance.” 
She dressed for morning and luncheon and afternoon, 
and again for dinner, changing to street gowns when 
necessary and doing her hair in a different way for 
each gown. Still, as Rose had said, she “suited her- 
self, ” for she was always immaculate, beautifully clad, 
and a joy to behold. 

Madame Bernard greatly approved of the lovely 
white wool house gown Isabel was wearing. She had 
no fault to find with the girl’s taste, but she wished to 
subordinate, as it were, the thing to the spirit; the 
temple to the purpose for which it was made. 

Isabel smiled at her sweetly as she folded up her work 
— a little uncomprehending smile. “Are you going 
away now for your ‘forty winks,’ Aunt Francesca?” 

“Yes, my dear. Can you amuse yourself for an 
hour or so without playing upon the piano?” 


5 $ 


IRose a n& Silver 


“Certainly. I didn’t know that you and Cousin 
Rose were asleep yesterday, or I wouldn’t have 
played. ” 

“Of course not.” Madame leaned over her and 
stroked the dark hair, waved and coiled in quite the 
latest fashion. “There are plenty of books and 
magazines in the library.” 

Madame went upstairs, followed at a respectful 
distance by Mr. Boffin, waving his plumed tail. He, 
too, took his afternoon nap, curled up cosily upon the 
silken quilt at the foot of his mistress’s couch. In the 
room adjoining, Rose rested for an hour also, though 
she usually spent the time with a book. 

Left to herself, Isabel walked back and forth idly, 
greatly allured by the forbidden piano. She looked 
over, carelessly, the pile of violin music Allison had 
left there. Some of the sheets were torn and had been 
pasted together, all were marked in pencil with hiero- 
glyphics, and most of them were stamped, in purple, 
“Allison Kent, ” with a Berlin or Paris address written 
in below. 

Isabel had met very few men, in the course of her 
twenty years. For this reason, possibly, she remem- 
bered every detail of the two weeks she had spent at 
Aunt Francesca’s and the hours with Allison, on the 
veranda, when he chose to amuse himself with the 
pretty, credulous child. It seemed odd to have him 
coming to the house again, though, unless he came to 
dinner, he usually spent the time playing, to Rose’s 
accompaniment. She had not seen him alone. 

She surveyed herself in the long, gilt-framed mirror, 
and was well pleased with the image of youth and 
beauty the mirror gave back. The bell rang and she 
pinned up a stray lock carefully. It was probably 


Bn afternoon Call 


57 


someone to see Aunt Francesca, but there was a 
pleasing doubt. It might be the twins, though she 
had not returned their call. 

Presently Allison came in, his cheeks glowung from 
his long walk in the cold. “Silver Girl,” he smiled, 
“where are the spangles, and are you alone?” 

“The spangles are upstairs waiting for candle- 
light,” answered Isabel, as he took her small, cool 
hand, “and I’m very much alone — or was.” 

“Where are the others?” 

“Taking naps.” 

“I hope I haven’t tired Rose out,” said Allison, 
offering Isabel a chair. He had unconsciously dropped 
the prefix of “Cousin.” “We’ve been working hard 
lately.” 

“Is she going with you on your tour?” 

“ I don’t know. I wish she could go, but I haven’t 
the heart to drag father or Aunt Francesca along with 
us, and otherwise, it would be — well, unconventional, 
you know. The conventions make me dead tired,” 
he added, with evident sincerity. 

“And yet,” said Isabel, looking into the fire, 
“they are all in the interests of morality. If you’re 
conventional, you’ll be good, negatively. It isn’t 
good manners for a man to shoot a lady or to sign a 
check with another man’s name and get it cashed. 
If you’re conventional, you’re not always explaining 
things. ” 

“Very true,” laughed Allison, “but sometimes 
the greatest good for the greatest number bears 
heavily upon the few.” 

“ Of course, ” Isabel agreed, after a moment’s pause. 
“Your friends, the Crosby twins, have called,” she 
continued. 


58 


©R> IRose a n& Silver 


4 ‘ Really ? * ’ Allison asked, with interest. * 1 How do 
you like them?’* 

“I wish they’d come often,” she smiled. “They 
remind me of a field of red clover, they’re so breezy 
and so wholesome.” 

“I must hunt ’em up,” he returned, absently. 
“They used to be regular little devils. It’s a shame 
for them to have all that money. ” 

“Why?” 

“Because they’ll waste it. They don’t know how 
to use it.” 

“Perhaps they do, in a way. One Fourth of July 
they gave every orphan in the Orphans’ Home two 
dollars’ worth of fireworks. Anybody else would have 
wasted the money on shoes, or hats. ” 

“I see you haven’t grown up. Would you rather 
have fireworks than clothes?” 

“There is a time in life when one sky-rocket can 
give more pleasure than a pair of shoes, and the gift 
of pleasure is the finest gift in the world. ” 

Allison was agreeably surprised, for hitherto Isabel’s 
conversation had consisted mainly of monosyllables 
and platitudes, or the hesitating echo of someone’s 
else opinion. Now he perceived that it was shyness; 
that Isabel had a mind of her own, and an unusual 
mind, at that. He looked at her quickly and the 
colour bloomed upon her pale, cold face. 

“Tell me, little playmate, what have the years done 
for you since you went out and pulled up the rose 
bushes to find the scent bottles?” 

“Nothing,” she answered, not knowing what else 
to say. 

“Still looking for the unattainable?” 

“Yes, if you like to put it that way.” 


Bn Efternoon (Tall 


59 


“Where’s your mother?” 

“Out lecturing.” 

“What about?” 

“ The Bloodless Revolution, or the Gradual Eman- 
cipation of Woman,” she repeated, parrot-like. 

“ Her work must keep her away from home a great 
deal, ” he ventured, after a pause. 

“Yes. I seldom see her. ’ ’ 

“You must be lonely.” 

She turned her dark eyes to his. V I live in a hotel, ” 
she said. 

In the simple answer, Allison saw an unmeasured 
loneliness, coupled with a certain loyalty to her 
mother. He changed the subject. 

“You like it here, don’t you?” 

“Yes, indeed. Aunt Francesca is lovely and so is 
Cousin Rose. I wish,” she went on, with a little sigh 
as she glanced about the comfortable room, “that I 
could always stay here. ” The child-like appeal in her 
tone set Allison’s heart to beating a little faster. 

“I wish you could,” he said. Remorsefully, he 
remembered the long hours he had spent with Rose 
at the piano, happily oblivious of Isabel. 

“Are you fond of music?” he asked. 

“Yes, indeed! I always sit outside and listen when 
you and Cousin Rose play.” 

“Come in whenever you want to,” he responded, 
warmly. 

“Won’t I be in the way? Won’t I be a bother?” 

“I should say not. How could you be?” 

“Then,” Isabel smiled, “I’ll come sometimes, if I 
may. It’s the only pleasure I have. ” 

“That’s too bad. Sometime we’ll go into town to 
the theatre, just you and I. Would you like to go?” 


6q 


©to IRoae a n& Sifter 


44 I'd love to,” she answered, eagerly. 

The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled 
merrily upon the hearth, and the wind howled outside. 
In the quiet room, Allison sat and studied Isabel, with 
the firelight shining upon her face and her white gown. 
She seemed much younger than her years. 

44 You’re only a child, ” he said, aloud; “a little, 
helpless child. ” 

44 How long do you think it will be before I’m grown 
up?” 

41 1 don’t want you to grow up. I can remember 
now Just how you looked the day I told you about 
the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a 
sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with 
black buttons, and the most fetching white sun- 
bonnet. Your hair was falling in curls all round your 
face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung 
to your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to 
me and said: ‘Allison, please fix my’s turls.’ Don’t 
you remember? ” 

She smiled and said she had forgotten. 44 But, ” she 
added, truthfully, 4, I've often wondered how I looked 
when I was dressed up. ” 

“Then,” he continued, “I told you how the scent 
bottles grew on the roots of the rose bushes, and, after 
I went home, you went and pulled up as many as you 
could. Aunt Francesca was very angry with me.” 

“Yes, I remember that. I felt as though you were 
being punished for my sins. It was years afterward 
that I saw I’d been sufficiently punished myself. 
Look!” 

She lean -id toward him and showed him a narrow 
white line on the soft flesh between her forefinger and 
her thumb, extending back over her hand. 


an afternoon Call 


61 


11 A thorn, ” she said. “ I shall carry the scar to my 
dying day.” 

With a little catch in his throat, Allison caught 
the little hand and pressed it to his lips. “Forgive 
me!” he said. 

* - . 

* 


VI 


3be fcigbt on tbe Hltar 

Colonel Kent had gone away on a short business 
trip and Allison was spending his evenings, which 
otherwise would have been lonely, at Madame Ber- 
nard^. After talking for a time with Aunt Francesca 
and Isabel, it seemed natural for him to take up his 
violin and suggest, if only by a half-humorous glance, 
that Rose should go to the piano. 

Sometimes they played for their own pleasure and 
sometimes worked for their own benefit. Neither 
Madame nor Isabel minded hearing the same thing a 
dozen times or more in the course of an evening, for, 
as Madame said, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, iz 
made “a pleasant noise,” and Isabel did not trouble 
herself to listen. 

Both Rose and Allison were among the fortunate 
ones who find joy in work. Rose was so keenly 
interested in her music that she took no count of the 
hours spent at the piano, and Allison fully appreciated 
her. It had been a most pleasant surprise for him to 
find a good accompanist so near home. 

The discouraging emptiness of life had mysteriously 
vanished for Rose. Her restlessness disappeared as 
though by magic and her indefinite hunger had been, 
in some way, appeased. She had unconsciously 
emerged from one state into another, as the tiny 
62 


Gbe %mt on tbe Bitar 


63 


dwellers of the sea cast off their shells. She had a 
sense of freedom and a large vision, as of dissonances 
resolved into harmony. 

Clothes, also, which, as Madame had said, are 
“supposed to please and satisfy women,” had taken 
to themselves a new significance. Rose had made 
herself take heed of her clothes, but she had never had 
much real interest. Now she was glad of the time she 
had spent in planning her gowns, merely with a view 
to pleasing Aunt Francesca. 

To-night, she wore a clinging gown of deep green 
velvet, with a spray of green leaves in her hair. Her 
only ornament was a pin of jade, in an Oriental set- 
ting. Allison looked at her admiringly. 

“There’s something about you,” he said, “that I 
don’t know just how to express. I have no words for 
it, but, in some way, you seem to live up to your 
name.” 

“How so?” Rose asked, demurely. 

“Well, I’ve never seen you wear anything that a 
rose might not wear. I’ve seen you in red and green 
and yellow and pink and white, but never in blue or 
purple, or any of those soft-coloured things that Aunt 
Francesca wears.” 

“That only means,” answered Rose, flushing, 
“that blue and grey and tan and lavender aren’t 
becoming to me.” 

“That isn’t it,” Allison insisted, “for you’d be 
lovely in anything. You’re living up to your name.” 

“Go on,” Rose suggested mischievously. “This is 
getting interesting.” 

“You needn’t laugh. I assure you that men know 
more about those things than they’re usually given 
credit for. Your jewels fit in with the whole idea, too. 


6 4 


©lb Hose ant) Stiver 


That jade pin, for instance, and your tourmaline 
necklace, and your ruby ring, and the topazes you 
wear with yellow, and the faint scent of roses that 
always hangs about you.” 

“What else?” she smiled. 

“Well, I had a note from you the other day. It 
was fragrant with rose petals, and the conventionalised 
rose, in gold and white, that was stamped in place of 
a monogram, didn’t escape me. Besides, here’s this. ” 

He took from his pocket a handkerchief of sheerest 
linen, delicately hemstitched. In one corner was 
embroidered a rose, in palest shades of pink and green. 
The delicate, elusive scent filled the room as he shook 
it out. 

“There,” he continued, with a laugh. “I found it 
in my violin case the other day. I don’t know how it 
came there, but it was much the same as finding a rose 
twined about the strings. ” 

Aunt Francesca was on the other side of the room, 
by the fire. Her face, in the firelight, was as delicate 
as a bit of carved ivory. Her thoughts were far away 
—-one could see that. Isabel sat near her, apparently 
absorbed in a book, but, in reality, listening to every 
word. 

“I wish,” Allison was saying, “that people knew 
how to live up to themselves. That’s an awkward 
phrase, but I don’t know of anything better. Even 
their names don’t fit ’em, and they get nicknames.” 

“ ‘Father calls me William,’ ” murmured Rose. 

“ ‘And Mother calls me Will,’ ” Allison went on. 
“That’s it, exactly. See how the ‘Margarets’ are 
adjusted to themselves by their friends. Some are 
4 Margie ’ and more of ’em are ‘ Peggy. * A ‘ Margaret* 
who is allowed to wear her full name is very rare. ” 


TTbe Xfabt on tbe Bitar 65 

“I’m glad my name can’t be changed easily,” she 
said, thoughtfully. 

“It could be 1 Rosie,’ with an ‘ie,* and if you were 
that sort, it would be. Take Aunt Francesca, for 
instance. She might be ‘Frances’ or ‘Fanny’ or even 
‘Fran,’ but her name suits her, so she gets the full 
benefit of it, every time. ” 

Madame turned away from the fire, with the air 
of one who has been away upon a long journey. 
“Did I hear my name? Did someone speak to 
me?” 

“Only of you,” Allison explained. “We were 
talking of names and nicknames and saying that 
yours suited you.” 

“If it didn’t,” observed Madame Bernard, “I’d 
change it. When we get civilised, I believe children 
will go by number until they get old enough to choose 
their own names. Fancy a squirming little imp with 
a terrible temper being saddled with the name of 
‘ William, ’ by authority of Church and State. Except 
to his doting parents, he’ll never be anything but 
‘Bill.’” 

“Does my name fit me?” queried Isabel, much 
interested. 

“It would,” said Allison, “if you weren’t quite so 
tall. Does my name fit me? ” 

He spoke to Madame Bernard but he looked at 
Rose. It was the older woman who answered him. 
“Yes, of course it does. How dare you ask me that 
when I named you myself?” 

“I’d forgotten,” Allison laughed. “I can’t re- 
member quite that far back.” 

They began to play once more and Isabel, pleading 
a headache, said good-night. She made her farewells 


5 


66 


©lb IRose a nb Stiver 


very prettily and there was a moment's silence after 
the door closed. 

“I’m afraid,” said Madame, “that our little girl is 
lonely. Allison, can’t you bestir yourself and find 
some young men to call upon her? I can’t think of 
anybody but the Crosby twins.” 

“What’s the matter with me?” inquired Allison, 
lightly. “Am I not calling? And behold, I give her a 
headache and she goes to bed.” 

“You’re not exactly in her phase of youth,” 
Madame objected. “She’s my guest and she has to 
be entertained. ” 

“ I ’m willing to do my share. I ’ll take her into town 
to the theatre some night, and to supper afterward, 
in the most brilliantly lighted place I can find.” 

“That’s very nice of you,” responded Rose, with a 
look of friendly appreciation. “I know she would 
enjoy the bright lights. ” 

“We all do, in certain moods,” he said. “Are you 
ready now?” 

The voice of the violin rose to heights of ecstasy, 
sustained by full chords in the accompaniment. 
Mingled with the joy of it, like a breath of sadness 
and longing, was a theme in minor, full of ques- 
tion and heartbreak ; of appeal that was almost prayer. 
And over it all, as always, hovering like some far light, 
was the call to which Rose answered. Dumbly, she 
knew that she must always answer it, though she were 
dead and the violin itself mingled with her dust. 

Madame Bernard, still seated by the fire, stirred 
uneasily. Something had come into her house that 
vaguely troubled her, because she had no part in it. 
The air throbbed with something vital, keen, alive; 
the room trembled as from invisible wings imprisoned. 


XTbe Xtgbt on tbe Bitar 


67 


Old dreams and memories came back with a rush, 
and the little old lady sitting in the half-light looked 
strangely broken and frail. The sound of marching 
and the steady beat of a drum vibrated through her 
consciousness and the singing violin was faint and far. 
She saw again the dusty street, where the blue column 
went forward with her Captain at the head, his face 
stem and cold, grimly set to some high Purpose that 
meant only anguish for her. The picture above the 
mantel, seen dimly through a mist, typified, to her, 
the ways of men and women, since the world began — 
the young knight riding forward in his quest for the 
Grail, already forgetting what lay behind, while the 
woman knelt, waiting, waiting, waiting, as women 
always have and always must. 

At last the music reached its end in a low chord that 
was at once a question and a call. Madame rose, 
about to say good-night, and go upstairs where she 
might be alone. On the instant she paused. Her 
heart waited almost imperceptibly, then resumed its 
beat. 

Still holding the violin, Allison was looking at Rose. 
Subconsciously, Madame noted his tall straight figure, 
his broad well-set shoulders, his boyish face, and his 
big brown eyes. But Rose had illumined as from some 
inward light; her lovely face was transfigured into a 
beauty beyond all words. 

Francesca slipped out without speaking and went, 
unheard, to her own room. She felt guilty because 
she had discerned something of which Rose herself 
was as yet entirely unconscious. With the instinctive 
sex-loyalty that distinguishes fine women from the 
other sort, Madame hoped that Allison did not know. 

“And so, ” she said to herself, “ Love has come back 


68 


OH) IRose ant) Silver 


to my house, after many years of absence. I wonder 
if he cares? He must, oh, he must!’' Francesca had 
no selfish thought of her own loneliness, if her Rose 
should go away. Though her own heart was forever 
in the keeping of a distant grave, she could still be 
glad of another’s joy. 

Rose turned away from the piano and Allison put 
his violin into the case. “It's late,” he said, regret- 
fully, “and you must be tired. ” 

“Perhaps I am, but I don’t know it.” 

“You respond so fully to the music that it is a great 
pleasure to play with you. I wish I could always have 
you as my accompanist. ” 

“I do, too,” murmured Rose, turning her face 
away. The deep colour mounted to the roots of her 
hair and he studied her impersonally, as he would 
have studied any other lovely thing. 

“Why?” he began, then laughed. 

“Why what?” asked Rose, quickly. 

“ I was about to ask you a very foolish question. 99 

“Don’t hesitate,” she said. “Most questions are 
foolish.” 

“This is worse — it’s idiotic. I was going to ask you 
why you hadn’t married. ” 

With a sharp stab at the heart, Rose noted the past 
tense. “Why haven’t you?” she queried, forcing a 
smile. 

“There is only one answer to that question, and 
yet people keep on asking it. They might as well ask 
why you don’t buy an automobile. ” 

“Well?” continued Rose, inquiringly, 
r “ Because ‘the not impossible she,* or ‘he,’ hasn’t 
come, that’s all. ” 

“Perhaps only one knows,” she suggested. 


XTbe XlQbt on t be Bitar 69 

“No,” replied Allison, “in any true mating, they 
both know — they must. ” 

There was a long pause. A smouldering log, in 
the fireplace, broke and fell into the embers. The 
dying flame took new life and the warm glow filled 
the room. 

“Is that why people don’t buy automobiles?” 
queried Rose, chiefly because she did not know what 
else to say. 

“The answer to that is that they do.” 

“Sounds as if you might have taken it from 
Alice in Wonderland ,” she commented. “Maybe 
they’ve had to give each other up,” she concluded, 
enigmatically. 

“People who wilt give each other up should be 
obliged to do it,” he returned. “May I leave my 
violin here? I’ll be coming again so scon.” 

“Surely. I hope you will. ” 

“Good-night.” He took her hand for a moment 
in his warm, steady clasp, and subtly, Rose answered 
to the man — not the violin. She was deathly white 
when the door closed, and she trembled all the way 
upstairs. 

When she saw herself in the mirror, she was startled, 
for, in her ghostly pallor, her deep eyes burned like 
stars. She knew, now. The woman who had so 
hungered for Life had suddenly come face to face with 
its utmost wonder; its highest gift of joy — or pain. 

The heart of a man is divided into many compart- 
ments, mostly isolated. Sometimes there is a door 
between two of them, or even three may be joined, 
but usually each one is complete in itself. Within the 
different chambers his soul sojourns as it will, since 


70 


<S>R> IRose anb Silver 


immeasurably beyond woman, he possesses the power 
of detachment, of intermittence. 

Once in a lifetime, possibly, under the influence of 
some sweeping passion, all the doors are flung wide 
and the one beloved woman may enter in. Yet she is 
wise, with the wisdom of the Sphinx, if she refuses to 
go. Let her say to him: “Close all these doors, 
except that which bears my name. In that chamber 
and in that alone, we shall dwell together." For, 
with these words, the memories housed in the other 
chambers crumble to dust and ashes, blown only by 
vagrant winds of Fate. 

In the heart of a woman there are few chambers 
and still fewer doors. Instead of business-like com- 
partments, neatly labelled, there are long, labyrin- 
thine passages, all opening into one another and 
inextricably bound together. To shut out one, or 
even part of one, requires the building of a wall, but it 
takes a long time and the barrier is never firm. 

At a single strain of music, the scent of a flower, or 
even one glimpse of a path of moonlight lying fair 
upon a Summer sea, the barriers crumble and fall. 
Through the long corridors the ghosts of the past 
walk unforbidden, hindered only by broken promises, 
dead hopes, and dream-dust. 

Even while the petals of long-dead roses rustle 
through the winding passages, where the windows are 
hung with cobwebs, greyed at last from iridescence to 
despairing shadows, a barrier may fall at the sound 
of a talismanic name, for the hands of women are 
, small and slow to build and the hearts of women are 
tender beyond all words. 

Hidden in the centre of the labyrinth is one small 
secret chamber, and the door may open only at the 


TLhc 2Ltabt on tbe Bitar 


71 


touch of one other hand. The woman herself may go 
into it for peace and sanctuary, when the world goes 
wrong, but always alone, until the great day comes 
when two may enter it together. 

As Theseus carried the thread of Ariadne through 
the labyrinth of Crete, there are many who attempt 
to find the secret chamber, but vainly, for the thread 
will always break in the wrong heart. 

When the door is opened, at last, by the one who 
has made his way through the devious passages, there 
is so little to be seen that sometimes even the man 
himself laughs the woman to scorn and despoils her 
of her few treasures. 

The secret chamber is only a bare, white room, 
where is erected the high altar of her soul, served 
through life, by her own faith. Upon the altar bums 
steadfastly the one light, waiting for him who at last 
has come and consecrated in his name. The door of 
the sanctuary is rock-ribbed and heavy, and he who 
has not the key may beat and call in vain, while 
within, unheeding, the woman guards her light. 

Pitifully often the man does not care. Sometimes 
he does not even suspect that he has been admitted 
into the inmost sanctuary of her heart, for there 
are men who may never know what sanctuary 
means, ncr what the opening of the door has cost. 
But the man who is worthy will kneel at the altar 
for a moment, with the woman beside him, and 
thereafter, when the outside world has been cruel 
to him, he may go in sometimes, with her, to 
warm his hands at those divine fires and kindle his 
failing courage anew. 

When the sanctuary is not profaned by him who 
has come hither, its blessedness is increased ten-fold; 


7 * 


©lb IRose ant) Silver 


it takes on a certain divinity by being shared, and 
thereafter they serve the light together. 

And yet, through woman’s eager trustfulness, the 
man who opens the door is not always the one divinely 
appointed to open it. Sometimes the light fails and 
the woman, weeping in the darkness, is left alone in 
her profaned temple, never to open its door again, or, 
after many years, to set another light high upon the 
altar, and, in the deepening shadows, pray. 

So, because the door had never been opened, and 
because she knew the man had come at last who 
might enter the sanctuary with her, Rose lifted her 
ever-burning light that night to the high altar of her 
soul, and set herself to wait until he should find his 
way there. 


VII 


father anh Son 

The house seemed very quiet, though steadily, from 
a distant upper room, came the sound of a violin. 
For more than an hour, Allison had worked con- 
tinuously at one difficult phrase. Colonel Kent 
smiled ^whimsically as he sat in the library, thinking 
that, by this time, he could almost play it himself. 

Looking back over the thirty years, he could see 
where he had made mistakes in moulding the human 
clay entrusted to his care, yet, in the end, the mistakes 
had not mattered. Back in the beginning, he had 
formulated certain cherished ideals for his son, and 
had worked steadily toward them, unmindful of 
occasional difficulties and even failures. 

Against his own judgment, he had yielded to 
Francesca in the choice of the boy’s career. “Look 
at his hands, ” she had said. “You couldn’t put hands 
like his at work in an office. If he isn’t meant for 
music, we’ll find it out soon enough. ” 

But Allison had gone on, happily, along the chosen 
path, with never a question or doubt of his ultimate 
success. Just now, the Colonel was deeply grateful 
to Francesca, for the years abroad had been pleasant 
ones, and would have been wholly impossible had 
Allison been working in an office. 

With a sigh, he began to pace back and forth 
73 


74 


©lb IRose anb Stiver 


through the hall, his hands in his pockets, and his 
grey head bowed. Before him was his own portrait, 
in uniform, his hand upon his sword. The sword 
itself, hanging in a corner of the hall, was dull and 
lifeless now. He had a curious sense that his work was 
done. 

The tiny stream, rising from some cool pool among 
the mountains, is not unlike man’s own beginning, for, 
at first, it gives no hint of its boundless possibilities. 
Grown to a river, taking to itself the water from a 
thousand secret channels, it leaps down the mountain, 
heedless of rocky barriers, with all the joy of lusty 
youth. 

The river itself portrays humanity precisely, with 
its tortuous windings, its accumulation of driftwood, 
its unsuspected depths, and its crystalline shallows, 
singing in the Summer sun. Barriers may be built 
across its path, but they bring only power, as the 
conquering of an obstacle is always sure to do. Some- 
times when the rocks and stone-clad hills loom large 
ahead, and eternity itself would be needed to carve a 
passage, there is an easy way around. The discovery 
of it makes the river sing with gladness and turns the 
murmurous deeps to living water, bright with ripples 
and foam. 

Ultimately, too, in spite of rocks and driftwood, of 
endless seeking for a path, of tempestuous nights 
and days of ice and snow, man and the river reach 
the eternal sea, to be merged forever with the Ever- 
lasting. 

Upstairs the music ceased. A door opened, then 
closed, and presently Allison came down, rubbing his 
hands. “It’s a little cool up there,” he said, “and 


ifatber anb Son 


75 


yet, by the calendar, it’s Spring. I wish this climate 
could be averaged up. ” 

“Even then, we wouldn't be satisfied,” the Colonel 
returned. “Who wants all his days to be alike?” 

“ Nobody. Still, it's a bit trying to freeze your nose 
one day and be obliged to keep all the windows open 
the next.” 

There was a long pause. The Colonel tapped his 
fingers restlessly upon the library table. Allison went 
over to the open fire and stood with his back to it, 
clasping his hands behind him. “What have you 
been doing all the morning, Dad?” 

“Nothing. Just sitting here, thinking.” 

“ Pretty hopeless occupation unless you have some- 
thing in particular to think about.” 

“ It’s better to have nothing to think about than 
to be obliged to think of something unpleasant, isn’t 
it?” 

“I don't know,” Allison responded, smothering a 
ya^n. “Almost anything is better than being bored.” 

“You're not bored, are you?” asked the Colonel, 
quickly. 

“ Far from it, but I have my work. I was thinking 
of you.” 

“I can work, too,” the Colonel replied. “I think 
as soon as the ground thaws out, I’ll make a garden. 
A floral catalogue came yesterday and the pictures 
are very inspiring.” 

“Does it give any directions for distinguishing 
between the flowers and weeds?” 

“No,” laughed the Colonel, “but I’ve thought of 
trying the ingenious plan of the man who pulled up 
the plants and carefully watered the weeds, expecting 
the usual contrary results.” 


76 


©lb IRose a rib Stiver 


Luncheon was announced and they went out 
together, shivering at the change in temperature 
between the library and the dining-room, where there 
would be no cheerful open fire until the dinner 
hour. 

“ What are you going to do this afternoon? ” queried 
the Colonel. 

“Why, work, I suppose — at least until I get too 
tired to work any more. ” 

“You seem to believe in an eight-hour day.” 

Something in the tone gave Allison an inkling of 
the fact that his father was lonely and restless in the 
big house. When they were abroad, he had managed 
to occupy himself pleasantly while Allison was busy, 
and, for the first time, the young man wondered 
whether it had been wise to come back. 

The loneliness of the great rooms was evident, if 
one looked for it, and the silence was literally to be 
felt, everywhere. It is difficult for two people to be 
happy in a large house ; they need the cosiness estab- 
lished by walls not too far apart, ceilings not too high, 
and the necessary furniture not too widely separated. 
A single row of books, within easy reach, may hint 
of companionship not possible to the great bookcase 
across a large room. 

“I think,” said Allison, “that perhaps this house is 
too large for us. Why should we need fifteen rooms? ” 

“We don’t, but what’s the use of moving again just 
now, when we’re all settled.” 

“It’s no trouble to move,” returned the young 
man. 

“It might be, if we did it ourselves. I fancy that 
Miss Rose could give us a few pointers on the subject 
of opening an old house.” 


jfatber ant> Son 


77 


" There may be something in that,** admitted 
Allison. “What charming neighbours they are!” he 
added, in a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Madame Bernard,” replied the Colonel, with 
emphasis, “is one of the finest women I have ever had 
the good fortune to meet. Miss Rose is like her, but 
I have known only one other of the same sort.” 

“And the other was •” 

“Your mother.” 

The Colonel pushed back his plate and went to the 
window. Beyond the mountains, somewhere in 
“God’s acre,” was the little sunken grave still en- 
folding a handful of sacred dust. With a sudden 
throb of pain, Allison realised, for the first time in his 
life, that his father was an old man. The fine, strong 
face, outlined clearly by the pitiless afternoon sun, 
was deeply lined ; the broad shoulders were stooped a 
little, and the serene eyes dimmed as though by mist. 
In the moment he seemed to have crossed the dividing 
line between maturity and age. 

Allison was about to suggest that they take a walk 
after luncheon, having Madame Bernard’s household 
in mind as the ultimate object, but, before he could 
speak, the Colonel had turned away from the window. 

“Some day you’ll marry, lad,” he said, in a strange 
tone. 

Allison smiled and shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. 

“And then,” the Colonel continued, with a Httle 
catch in his voice, “the house will be none too large 
for two — for you two.” 

Very rarely, and for a moment only, Allison looked 
like his mother. For an instant she lived again in her 
son’s eyes, then vanished. 

“Dad,” he said, gently, “I’m sure you wouldn’t 


78 


©U> tRose ant) Stiver 


desert me even if I did marry. You’ve stood by me 
too long.” 

The stooped shoulders straightened and the Colonel 
smiled. “Do you mean. that — if you married, you’d 
still — want me?” 

“ Most assuredly. ” 

“She wouldn’t.” 

“If she didn’t,” returned Allison, lightly, “she 
wouldn’t get me. Not that I’m any prize to be 
wrangled over by the fair sex, individually or col- 
lectively, but you and I stand together, Dad, and 
don’t you forget it.” 

The Colonel cleared his throat, tried to speak, then 
stopped abruptly. “I have been thinking,” he con- 
tinued, with a swift change of mood and subject, 
“ that we might manage a dinner party. We’re much 
indebted to Madame Bernard.” 

“Good idea! I don’t know what sort of party it 
would prove to be, but, if we did our best, it would be 
all right with them. Anyhow, Aunt Francesca would 
give an air to it. ” 

“So would the others, Miss Rose especially.” 

“I wonder why Aunt Francesca didn’t marry 
again,” mused Allison. 

“Because her heart is deep enough to hold a 
grave.” 

“You knew her husband, didn’t you?” 

“He was my best friend,” answered the Colonel, a 
little sadly. “Flow the years separate and destroy, 
and blot out the things that count for the most!” 

“I wonder how she happened to be named ‘Fran, 
cesca. * It isn’t an American name. ” 

“ She wasn’t. Her name was ‘ Mary Frances, * and 
he changed it to ‘ Marie Francesca. ’ So she has been 


jfatber anb Son 


79 

‘Marie Francesca’ ever since, though she never uses 
the 4 Marie. * That was his name for her. ” 

“The change suits her someway. Queer idea she 
has about names fitting people, and yet it isn’t so 
queer, either, when you come to think of it. Rose 
might have been named Abigail or Jerusha, yet I 
believe people would have found out she was like a 
rose and called her by her proper name.” 

Colonel Kent flashed a quick glance at him, but 
the expression of his face had not changed. “And 
Isabel?” he queried, lightly. 

“ Isabel’s only a kid and it doesn’t matter so much 
whether things fit her or not. I’ve promised to take 
her to the theatre,” he continued, irrelevantly, “be- 
cause Aunt Francesca wants her guest to be amused. 
I’m also commissioned to find some youths about 
twenty and trot ’em round for Isabel’s inspection. 
Do you know of anybody?” 

“I’ve seen only one who might do. There’s .a 
lanky boy with unruly hair and an expansive smile 
whom I’ve seen at the post-office a time or two. He 
usually has a girl with him, but she may be his sister. 
They look astonishingly alike.” 

“Bet it’s the Crosby twins. I’d like to see the little 
devils, if they’ve grown up.” 

“They’re grown up, whoever they are. The boy is 
almost as tall as I am and his sister doesn’t lack much 
of it.” 

“I must hunt ’em up. They’ve already called on 
Isabel, and perhaps, when she returns the call, she’ll 
take me along.” 

“Who brought them up?” asked the Colonel 
idly. 

“They’ve brought themselves up, for the last five 


8o 


©l& iRose an& Silver 


or six years, and I’m of the opinion that they’ve 
always done it.” 

“ Let’s invite them to the dinner party. ” 

Allison’s eyes danced at the suggestion. “ All right* 
but we’ll have to see ’em first. They may not want to 
come.” 

“I’ve often wondered,” mused the Colonel, “why 
it is so much more pleasant to entertain than it is to be 
entertained. I’d rather have a guest any day than to 
be one. ” 

“And yet,” returned Allison, “if you are a guest, 
you can get away any time you want to, within 
reasonable limits. If you’re entertaining, you’ve got 
to keep it going until they all want to go.” 

“In that case, it might be better for us if we went 
to Crosbys’.” 

“We can do that, too. I think it would be fun, 
though, to have ’em here. We need another man in 
one sense, though not in another. ” 

“I have frequently had occasion to observe,” re- 
marked the Colonel, “that many promising dinners 
are wholly spoiled by the idea that there must be an 
equal number of men and women. One uncongenial 
guest can ruin a dinner more easily than a poor salad — 
and that is saying a great deal. ” 

“Your salad days aren’t over yet, evidently.” 

“I hope not.” 

The hour of talk had done the Colonel a great deal 
of good, and he was quite himself again. Some new 
magazines had come in the afternoon mail and lay on 
the library table. He fingered the paper knife ab- 
sently as he tore off the outer wrappings and threw 
them into the fire. 

“I believe I’ll go up and work for a couple of 


Jfatber an& Son 81 

hours, ” said Allison, “and then we’ll go out for a 
walk. ” 

“All right, lad. I’ll be ready.” 

Even after the strains of the violin sounded faintly 
from upstairs, accompanied by a rhythmic tread as 
Allison walked to and fro, Colonel Kent did not begin 
to cut the leaves. Instead, he sat gazing into the fire, 
thinking. Quite unconsciously, for years, he had been 
carrying a heavy burden — the fear that Allison would 
marry and that his marriage would bring separation. 
Now he was greatly reassured. “And yet,” he 
thought, “there’s no telling what a woman may do.” 

The sense that his work was done still haunted him, 
and, resolutely, he tried to push it aside. “While 
there’s life, there’s work,” he said to himself. He 
knew, however, as he had not known before, that 
Allison was past the need of his father, except for 
companionship. 

The old house seemed familiar, yet as though it 
belonged to another life. He remembered the build- 
ing of it, when, with a girl’s golden head upon his 
shoulder, they had studied plans together far into the 
night. As though it were yesterday, their delight at 
the real beginning came back. There was another 
radiant hour, when the rough flooring for the first 
story was laid, and, with bare scantlings reared, 
skeleton-like, all around them, they actually went 
into their own house. 

One by one, through the vanished years, he sought 
out the links that bound him to the past. The day 
the bride came home from the honeymoon, and knelt, 
with him, upon the hearthstone, to light their first 
fire together; the day she came to him, smiling, to 
whisper to him the secret that lay beneath her heart; 


6 


82 


©16 TCose an6 Stiver 


the long waiting, half fearful and half sweet, then the 
hours of terror that made an eternity of a night, 
then the dawn, that brought the ultimate, unbroken 
peace which only God can change. 

Over there, in front of the fireplace in the library, 
the little mother had lain in her last sleep. The 
heavy scent of tuberoses, the rumble of wheels, the 
slow sound of many feet, and the tiny, wailing cry 
that followed them when he and she went out of their 
house together for the last time — it all came back, but, 
mercifully, without pain. 

Were it not for this divine forgetting, few of us 
could bear life. One can recall only the fact of suffer- 
ing, never the suffering itself. When a sorrow is once 
healed, it leaves only a tender memory, to come back, 
perhaps, in many a twilight hour, with tears from 
which the bitterness has been distilled. 

Slowly, too, by the wonderful magic of the years, 
unknown joys reveal themselves and stand before us, 
as though risen from the dead. At such and such a 
time, we were happy, but we did not know it. In the 
midst of sorrow, the joy comes back, not reproachfully, 
but to beckon us on, with clearer sight, to those which 
lie on the path beyond. 

He remembered, too, that after the first sharp agony 
of bereavement was over; when he had learned that 
even Death does not deny Love, he had seemed to 
enter some mysterious fellowship. Gradually, he 
became aware of the hidden griefs of others, and from 
many unsuspected sources came consolation. Even 
those whom he had thought hard and cold cherished 
some holy of holies — some sacred altar where a 
bruised heart had been healed and the bitterness 
taken away. 


ffatber artb Son 


83 


He had come to see that the world was full of 
kindness ; that through the countless masks of varying 
personalities, all hearts beat in perfect unison, and 
that joy, in reality, is immortal, while pain dies in a 
day. 

“And yet,” he thought, “how strange it is that life 
must be nearly over, before one fully learns to live.” 

The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth, the sun- 
beams danced gaily through the old house, spending 
gold-dust generously in corners that were usually 
dark, and the uncut magazine slipped to the floor. 
Above, the violin sang high and clear. The Colonel 
leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

When Allison came down, he was asleep, with the 
peace of Heaven upon his face, and so quiet that the 
young man leaned over him, a little frightened, to wait 
for the next deep breath. Reassured, he did not wake 
him, but went for his walk alone. 


VIII 


44 Gbe gear's at tbe Spring ” 

Outside, in the grey darkness, the earth was soft with 
snow. Upon the illimitable horizon beyond the 
mountain peaks were straying gleams of dawn, colour- 
less, but none the less surely a promise of daybreak. 

Rose had been awake for some time, listening to the 
ice-clad branches that clattered with every passing 
breeze. A maple bough, tapping on her window as 
ghostly fingers might, had first aroused her from a 
medley of dreams. 

She went to the window, shivering a little, and, 
while she stood there, watching the faint glow in the 
East, the wind changed in quality, though it was still 
cool. Hints of warmth and fragrance were indefinably 
blended with the cold, and Rose laughed as she crept 
back to bed, for she had chanced upon the mysterious 
hour when the Weaver of the Seasons changed the 
pattern upon the loom. 

Having raised another window shade, she could see 
the dawn from where she lay. Tints of gold and 
amethyst came slowly upon the grey and made the 
horizon delicately iridescent, like mother-of-pearl. 
Warm and soft from the Southland, the first wind of 
Spring danced merrily into Madame Francesca’s 
sleeping garden, thrilling all the life beneath the sod. 
With the first beam of sun, the ice began to drip from 
84 


u Ubc gear’s at tbe Spring” 


85 


the imprisoned trees and every fibre of shrub and tree 
to quiver with aspiration, as though a clod should 
suddenly find a soul. 

In the watcher’s heart, too, had come another 
Spring, for once in time and tune with the outer world. 
The heart's seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. 
Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all 
words upon some golden day when the little creatures 
of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer 
joy of living? Who among us has not come home, 
singing, when the streets were almost impassable with 
snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in 
the midst of a pouring rain? 

The soul, too, has its own hours of Winter and 
Spring. Gethsemane and Calvary may come to us 
in the time of roses and Easter rise upon us in a Decem- 
ber night. How shall we know, in our own agony, of 
another’s gladness, or, on that blessed to-morrow when 
the struggle is over, help someone else to bear our own 
forgotten pain? 

True sympathy is possible only when the season of 
one soul accords with that of another, or else when 
memory, divinely tender, brings back a vivid, scarlet 
hour out of grey, forgotten days, to enable us to share, 
with another, his own full measure of sorrow or of joy. 

Ah, but the world was awake at last! Javelin-like, 
across a field of melting snow, went a flash of blue 
wings, and in Madame Francesca’s own garden a 
robin piped his cheery strain upon the topmost bough 
of a dripping tree. 

The woman, too, was awake, in every fibre of body 
and soul. Even her finger-tips seemed sentient and 
alive; her heart was strangely lifted, as though by 
imprisoned wings. She had no doubt of the ultimate 


86 


©lt> IRose anb Silver 


hour, when he would know also, yet, half-afraid, she 
shrank from it, as she would not have shrunk from 
pain. 

Madame had once remarked that civilisation must 
have begun not earlier than nine in the morning, or 
later than noon. She had a horror of the early break- 
fast, when the family, cold, but clean, gathers itself 
around the board which only last night was festive 
and strives valiantly to be pleasant. It was almost an 
axiom with her that human, friendly conversation 
was not possible before nine in the morning. 

So, as there was no one else to be pleased, the 
three women breakfasted when and where they chose. 
If Rose preferred to robe herself immaculately in 
white linen and have her coffee in the dining-room at 
seven, she was at liberty to do so. If she wanted it in 
her own room, at ten, that also was easily managed, 
but this was the only “movable feast” Madame 
would permit. Luncheon and dinner went precisely 
by the clock, year in and year out. 

Too happy to sleep and yearning to be outdoors, 
Rose dressed quietly and tiptoed down-stairs. She 
smiled whimsically as the heavy front door slammed 
behind her, wondering if it would wake the others and 
if they, too, would know that it was Spring. 

Tips of green showed now and then where the 
bulbs were planted, and, down in the wild garden, 
when she brushed aside the snow, Rose found a 
blushing hepatica in full bloom. “How indiscreet,” 
she thought, then added, to herself, “but what sub- 
lime courage it must take to blossom now!” 

The plump robin, whose winter had evidently been 
pleasant, hopped about the garden after her, occa- 
sionally seeking shelter on the lower bough of a tree 


"Zbc gear's at tbe Spring 


87 


if she turned, or came too near. “Don’t be afraid,” 
she called, aloud, then laughed, as with a farewell 
chirp and a flutter of wings, the robin took himself 
beyond the reach of further conversational liberties. 

Her pulses leaped with abundant life ; the wet road 
lured her eager feet. She went out, leaving the gate 
open, and turned toward the woods, where a flock of 
wild geese, breasting the chill winds far above the 
river, was steadily cleaving a passage to the friendly 
North. 

When she reached the woods, where the white 
birches stood like shy dryads among the oaks, she 
heard once more the robin’s flutelike call. It was 
answered by another, exactly upon the same notes, 
yet wholly different as to quality. Presently, among 
the trees, she caught a glimpse of a tall man, and she 
paused for an instant, frightened. Then her heart 
leaped and her cheeks burned, as she saw who it was. 

“Boy!” she called, clearly. “Ch, Boy!” 

Allison turned, startled, then came to her, smiling, 
hat in hand. “Upon my word,” he said. “I didn’t 
think there was anyone else mad enough to come out 
at this hour. ” 

“Why, it’s Spring! Didn’t you know?” 

“Yes. It came this morning just before sunrise.” 

“Were you awake?” 

“Yes, were you?” 

“Of course,” she answered. “I couldn’t stay in.” 

“Nor could I.” 

“The year’s at the spring, 

And day’s at the mom; 

Morning’s at seven; 

The hilt-side’s dew-pearled,” 

Rose quoted. “You know the rest, don’t you?” 


88 


©lb IRose ant) Silver 


“The rest doesn’t matter. ‘Morning waits at the 
end of the world — Gypsy, come away!’ ” 

“I’ll go,’’ she breathed, her eyes fixed on his, 
“anywhere!” 

“ To the river, then. The last time I saw it, ice and 
snow had hidden it completely.” 

The path was narrow until they got out of the 
woods, so Rose went ahead. “I don’t believe I 
fooled that robin by whistling to him,” Allison con- 
tinued. “He pretended I did, but I believe he was 
only trying to be polite. ” 

“He wasn’t, if it was the same robin I saw in our 
garden this morning. I spoke to him most pleasantly 
and told him not to be afraid of me, but he disappeared 
with a very brief, chirpy good-bye.” 

“Don’t hurry so,” he said, as he came up beside 
her and assisted her over a fallen tree. “We’ve got 
the whole day, haven’t we?” 

“We have all the time there is,” laughed Rose. 
“Everybody has, for that matter.” 

“ Have you had your breakfast?” 

“No, have you?” 

“Far from it. Everybody was asleep when I came 
out.” 

“Then you’ll have breakfast with me,” she said, 
quickly. 

“Thank you,” he smiled, “for taking the hint.” 

“But won’t your father miss you?” she queried, 
with mock seriousness. 

“He pays no attention whatever to my irregular 
habits, and I think that’s one reason why we get on so 
well together. It’s a wise father who knows his own 
child.” 

“Especially if it is a wise child,” she replied. Her 


“Zbc gear's at tbe Spring 


89 


eyes were dancing with mirth, a scarlet signal burned 
on either cheek, and her parted lips were crimson. 
She seemed lovelier to him than ever before. 

“Honestly, Rose, you seem to get prettier every 
day.” 

“Then,” she smiled, “if I were younger, I might 
eventually become dangerous. ” 

“Rose ” 

“Old Rose,” she interrupted. The high colour 
faded from her face as she spoke and left her pale. 

Allison put his hand on her arm and stopped. 
“Rose, please don’t. You’re not a day older than I 
am.” 

“Ten years,” she insisted stubbornly, for women 
are wont to lean upon the knife that stabs them and 
she was in a reckless mood. “When you’re forty, I’ll 
be fifty.” 

A shadow crossed his face. “ It hurts me, someway, 
to have you talk so. I don’t know how — nor why. ” 

In a single swift surge her colour came back. “All 
right,” she answered, quietly, “hereafter I’m thirty, 
also. Thanking you for giving me ten more years of 
life, for I love it so!” 

The sun was well up in the heavens when they came 
to the river, and the dark, rippling surface gave back 
the light in a thousand little dancing gleams. The 
ice was broken, the snow was gone, and fragments of 
shattered crystal went gently toward the open sea, 
lured by the song of the river underneath. 

“It doesn’t look deep,” remarked Rose. 

“But it is, nevertheless. I nearly drowned myself 
here when I was a kid, trying to dive to the bottom. ” 

“ I’m glad you didn’t succeed. What a heavy blow 
it would have been to your father. 1 ” 


90 


©It) IRose anfc Stiver 


41 Dear old Dad, ” said Allison, gently. “I’m all he 
has.” 

‘‘And all he wants.” 

“It’s after eight,” Allison complained, looking at 
his watch, “and I’m starving.” 

11 So am I. Likewise my skirts are wet, so we’d 
better go.” 

When they reached Madame Bernard’s, Rose 
ordered breakfast in the dining-room for two, then 
excused herself to put on dry clothing. Allison waited 
before the open fire until she came down, fresh and 
tailor-made, in another gown and a white linen 
collar. 

“I thought women always wore soft, fluffy things 
in the morning,” he observed, as they sat down. 

44 Some do — the fluffy ones, always. ” 

44 Who, for instance, are the fluffy ones?” 

4 4 Aunt Francesca for one and Isabel for another.” 

44 How long is the kid going to stay?” 

44 Until she gets ready to go home, I suppose.” 

44 1 thought she had no home.” 

4 4 She hasn’t. Poor Isabel is a martyr to the Cause 
of Woman.” 

44 How so?” 

44 Her mother is Emancipated, with a large E, and 
has no time for trifles like a daughter. She devotes 
herself to what she calls the Higher World Service.” 

44 So Isabel is stranded, on a desert island.” 

44 Yes, except for us.” 

4 4 How good you are!” he exclaimed, with honest 
admiration. 

44 It was Aunt Francesca,” returned Rose, flushing 
slightly. 44 1 had nothing to do with it. She took me 
from a desert island, too.” 


“TTfoe gear's at tbc Spring ” 


91 


41 Is Isabel emancipated?” 

“Not in the sense that her mother is.* 

“I don't see but what she is free.” 

* 1 She is. She can do exactly as she pleases and there 
is no one to say her nay.” 

“I thought all women did as they please.” 

“They do, in the sense that we all do as we please. 
If you make a sacrifice, you do it because you can get 
more pleasure out of making it than you would 
otherwise.” 

“You’ve been reading Spencer.” 

“I plead guilty,” she laughed. 

“If it's true,” he went on, after a moment’s pause, 
“a genuine New England conscience must be an 
unholy joy to its proud possessor.” 

“It’s unholy at all events. One lump, or two?”, 
she asked, as the coffee was brought in. 

“Two, please.” 

It seemed very pleasant to Allison to sit there in the 
warm, sunny room, with Rose opposite him, pouring 
his coffee. There was an air of cosiness and domestic 
peace about it hitherto outside his experience. For 
the first time he was conscious of the peculiar gracious- 
ness and sense of home that only a home-loving 
woman may give to a house. 

“ I like this, ” he said, as he took the steaming cup. 
“I’d like to do it often.” 

“We’d like to have you,” she returned, hospitably. 

“I thought you all had breakfast together at some 
fixed hour, and early at that. ” 

“How little you know Aunt Francesca! You can 
have breakfast in this house in any room you choose, 
at any hour before noon, all the year round. Some- 
times, we’re all together, sometimes only two. Usu- 


92 


©ID 1 Rose anD Silver 


ally, however, I’m alone, as I seem to get up a little 
earlier than the others.” 

“I think I’ll drop in occasionally, then. It looks 
as if there’d always be somebody to bear me company. 
Perhaps I’ll bring Dad, too. He’d like to have you 
pour his coffee. ” 

There was no mistaking the admiration in Allison’s 
eyes and Rose turned hers away. He sat with his back 
to the dining-room door and she, across from him, 
faced it squarely. For the merest fraction of a second 
Isabel, in a pink silk negligee, stood in the doorway, 
then vanished, as noiselessly as she had come. Her 
eyes were full of mysterious meaning that Rose was 
powerless to translate. 

11 I’d enjoy it, ” Rose said quickly. “ I love to pour 
the coffee and Aunt Francesca always lets me on the 
rare occasions when we breakfast together.” 

If her colour was a little brighter, if her voice was 
in a higher key, if her eyes had changed their expres- 
sion, Allison did not notice it. Yet, in the instant, 
she had attained a certain dual consciousness — there 
seemed to be two of her. One was the woman of the 
world, well-schooled in self-control, tactful, watchful, 
ready to smooth any awkwardness, and, at every point, 
to guard her guest. The other was Primitive Woman ; 
questioning, curious, and watchful in the sense of 
rivalry. She put it resolutely aside to think about 
later, and was very glad that Allison did not know. 

She was greatly relieved when he went home, 
promising to return later for a few hours of work upon 
a difficult concerto. “ We’ll do it again,” he said, 
laughing, as he went down the steps. “Ask Aunt 
Francesca to give me a meal ticket, to be used solely 
for breakfasts, will you?” 


44 Ube gear's at tbe Spring ” 


93 


Rose only smiled in answer, but waved her hand to 
him as he went out of the gate. She stood pensively 
in the hall for a moment or two after she had closed 
the door, and would have gone up to her own room 
had she not heard a step at the head of the stairs. 

Isabel was coming down, also fresh and tailor-made, 
with a white linen collar and a dashing crimson tie. 
Rose strolled into the library, took up a magazine, 
sat down, and pretended to read. 

“I'm so sorry to be late to breakfast/' remarked 
Isabel, following her. “But perhaps it’s just as well, 
as I wasn’t invited. ” 

“Nobody was invited," returned Rose, coolly. 
“I went out for an early walk, chanced to meet Mr. 
Kent, and he invited himself here to breakfast." 

“ I didn’t kncww you were in the habit of taking 
:-arly walks." 

“I’m trying to acquire the habit," answered Rose, 
with icy sweetness. 

“It won’t be hard," Isabel said, maliciously, “if 
they’re all equally pleasant." She slammed the door 
as she went out, shutting Rose in the library. 

For an instant Rose was angry, then her sense of 
humour triumphed and she laughed quietly until the 
tears came. There was no need now to meditate 
upon that mysterious lock in the girl’s eyes, for she 
had translated it herself. 

“The idea," said Rose to herself. “That foolish 
little child!" She tried to recall the conversation at 
the breakfast table, and remembered, with regret, 
that they had discussed Isabel quite freely. The 
thought that Isabel might have been listening before 
she made her presence known came forward per- 
sistently, though Rose hated herself for it. 


94 


®tt> IRose ant) Silver 


Then, with swift resolution, she put all annoying 
thoughts aside to dwell, happily, upon the perfect 
hour that nothing could ever change or spoil. She 
went into the hall by another door opening out of the 
library, thus avoiding Isabel, and sought her own 
room, singing to herself: 

“The year’s at the spring, 

And day’s at the morn, 

The morning’s at seven, 

The hillside’s dew-pearled, 

The lark’s on the wing, 

The snail's on the thorn; 

God’s in His heaven — 

All’s right with the woridP 


IX 


H 1knfgbt»JSrrant 

Another mongrel had been added to the Crosby 
collection, so the canine herd now numbered twenty, 
all in the best of health and spirits. Some unpleasant- 
ness had been caused at the breakfast table by a gentle 
hint from Juliet to the effect that the dog supply 
seemed somewhat in excess of the demand. She had 
added insult to injury by threatening to chloroform 
the next dog her brother brought home. 

“Huh!” Romeo sneered, “they’re as much yours 
as mine. You brought home the spotted one 
yourself.” 

“ That was only because the boys were teasing him. 
I didn’t want him.” 

“I’ve never brought home any without good 
reasons, and you know it. Besides, we’ve got room 
here for forty dogs, and they’re all fenced in. They 
don’t bother anybody.” 

“Except by barking,” complained Juliet. 

“They don’t bark much unless somebody goes by, 
and there aren’t any neighbours near enough to hear 
’em, even then.” 

“They do bark,” Juliet put in fretfully. “They 
bark all the time at something. They bark when 
they’re hungry and when they’ve eaten too much, 
and they bark at the sun and moon and stars, and 
95 


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©U> IRose ant) Silver 


when they’re not barking, some or all of ’em are 
fighting. They drive me crazy.” 

“Jule,” said Romeo, sternly, “I don’t see what’s 
the matter with you lately. You act like a sissy girl. 
Go up into the attic and work on the trapeze for an 
hour or two, and you’ll feel better. It wouldn’t sur- 
prise me now if you got so sissy that you were afraid 
of mice and snakes.” 

Juliet’s anger rose to the point of tears. “I’m not 
afraid of mice,” she sobbed, “and you know it. And 
I’ll hold a little green snake by the tail just as long as 
you will, so there!” 

Man-like, Romeo hated tears. “Shut up, Jule,” 
he said, not unkindly, “and we’ll arbitrate.” 

When her sobs ceased and she had washed her face 
in cold water, they calmly argued the question at 
issue. Romeo candidly admitted that twenty dogs 
might well be sufficient for people of simple tastes, 
and Juliet did not deny that only a “sissy girl” would 
be annoyed by barking. Eventually, Romeo promised 
not to bring home any more dogs unless the present 
supply should be depleted by disappearance or acci- 
dent, and Juliet promised not to chloroform any 
without his consent. With one accord, they decided 
to fit out the dogs with brown leather collars trimmed 
with yellow and to train the herd to follow the 
automobile. 

“They ought to be trained by the thirtieth of 
June,” observed Romeo. “It would make more of a 
celebration for Uncle if we took ’em along.” 

“Did you order the monogram put on the 
automobile? ” 

“Sure. I told ’em to put ‘The Yellow Peril’ on 
each door and on the back, and the initials, ‘C. T. r 


H fmiabteSrrant 


97 


above it everywhere.” ' The twins had adopted a 
common monogram, signifying “ Crosby Twins.” It 
adorned their stationery and their seal, but, as they 
seldom wrote letters, it had not been of much use. 

“We might have the initials put on the dogs* 
collars, too,” Juliet suggested. 

“Sure,” assented Romeo, cordially. “Then, if we 
lose any of ’em on the road, we can identify ’em when 
they’re found, and get ’em back. ” 

Juliet saw that she had made a mistake and hoped 
Romeo would forget about it, but vainly, for he 
lounged over and made a memorandum on the slate 
that hung in the hall. 

“I wonder,” continued Romeo, thoughtfully, “if 
the yard is big enough to train ’em in. We ought not 
to go out on the road until the thirtieth. ” 

“That’s easy enough,” Juliet answered, with a 
superior air. 

“How’d you go about it?” he demanded. 

“ If they were my dogs and I wanted ’em to follow 
me in an automobile, I’d let ’em fast for a day or two 
and fill the back seat of the machine with raw meat. 
They’d follow quick enough and be good and lively 
about it, too. They wouldn’t need to be trained.” 

“ Jule,” said Romeo, solemnly, “will you please 
forgive me for calling you a 1 sissy girl’?” 

“Sure!” Juliet had learned long before she was 
twenty, that “forgive me,” from a man’s lips, indi- 
cates the uttermost depths of abasement and devotion, 

“The fasting won’t hurt ’em,” Romeo continued, 
eager to change the subject. “They’re all in good 
condition now.” 

“ Except the last one. You can see some of his ribs 
yet.” 


98 


©15 iRose an5 Stiver 


“You can't by June." 

“No, I guess not. Say, Romie, oughtn't she to be 
coming to see us by now?" 

“Who?" 

“Isabel — what's-her-name. You know, up at 
Bernard’s." 

Happy-hearted comrade though she was, Juliet had 
a secret longing for feminine association, at rare 
intervals. It would be pleasant she thought, to go 
skating sometimes with a girl or two instead of the 
usual crowd of boys. She hated herself fiercefy for 
disloyalty, but the idea recurred persistently. 

“I'm not up on etiquette, ” Romeo replied, casually, 
“but I should think, if she wanted to come, she could 
do it by now. We made a polite call as far as I know." 

“We didn’t leave any cards. " 

4 ‘ Cards ? What kind of cards ? ’ ’ 

“Why, little cards, with our names on 'em. People 
always leave ’em, in the books, when they make 
calls." 

Romeo went over to the slate again and made 
another memorandum. “I’ll get 'em. What’ll we 
have on ’em?" 

“We always go together," Juliet suggested, “so I 
think one will do. Just put on it ‘ The Crosby Twins, * 
with our address. " 

“No need of the address. Everybody who knows 
us knows where we live. " 

“Perhaps," Juliet went on, meditatively, “she 
doesn't like me. " 

“If she doesn't," Romeo retorted, “I’ll know the 
reason why. Do you remember what I did to the red- 
headed boy from the Ridge who said he wouldn’t 
skate with the crowd if there was a girl in it? " 


a 1knlGbl>}£rrant 


99 

Juliet nodded with satisfaction. “But you know, 
Romie, you can’t hit a girl.” 

“That’s so,” he admitted disconsolately. “That 
fresh kid had to wear beefsteak over one eye for 
almost a week. ” 

Juliet laughed at the idea of Isabel with beefsteak 
bandaged over one eye. “We won’t worry about 
things we can’t help,” she said, philosophically. 
“We’ve done the proper thing and now it’s up to her. 
If she doesn’t come before we get the automobile, she 
doesn’t get invited to go out in it. ” 

“You bet she doesn’t.” 

The talk quickly turned to the unfailing subject of 
automobiles. “The Yellow Peril” had been ordered 
and half paid for, but there was delay in delivery. 
Tha brown clothes trimmed with tan leather had also 
been ordered, as well as the brown felt hats, exactly 
alike, with yellow ribbon bands. They had the gog- 
gles and enjoyed glaring fiercely at each other through 
them, especially at meals. Juliet had thought of 
making a veil of yellow chiffon, but Romeo had 
objected violently. He thought they should look as 
much alike as possible, so she had yielded. 

They had decided to make a wide track through 
the yard and around the bam to practise on. Suitable 
space for the automobile had already been set aside 
in the bam and safely fenced in beyond the reach of. 
canine interference. Romeo had not seen the neces- 
sity of the fence until Juliet had pointed out that 
some of the dogs would want to sleep on the leather 
cushions. “It would make it smell so doggy,” she 
had said, “that we’d have to call it ‘The Yellow Dog* 
instead of ‘The Yellow Peril.’ ” 

Romeo, with true masculine detachment, could 


100 


®i& IRose ant> Silver 


talk automobile with unfailing enthusiasm, and yet 
think continually about something else. The thought 
that Isabel might not like Juliet had not occurred to 
him. It seemed impossible that anybody should not 
like Juliet, for, in the fond eyes of her twin, she was 
the most sane and sensible girl in the world. 

“Anyhow,” thought Romeo as he went to sleep 
that night, “if Jule wants her to come here, she’s 
got to do it, that’s all.” 

He meditated upon the problem for several days 
without reaching any satisfactory conclusion. At 
last he determined to go up to see Isabel himself, and, 
as he phrased it in his own mind, “see how the land 
lays.” It would be difficult to elude Juliet, but, in 
Romeo’s experience, the things one determined to do 
could nearly always be done. 

It was an easy matter to make an errand to the 
City, “to poke ’em up a bit about the machine,” 
and to get the visiting cards, which had promptly been 
ordered by mail. Juliet rather insisted upon going 
along, but was easily dissuaded by the fact that 
“there might be a row, and anyway, it’s a man’s 
job.” 

He came home about dusk with several packages, 
one of which he carefully concealed under a pile of 
leaves in the fence comer just inside the yard. He 
could easily reach through the palings and lift it over 
the fence as he passed. 

Juliet admired the cards, was delighted with a box 
of chocolates and two new novels, and condescended 
to approve of Romeo’s new red tie. He had gloves in 
his pocket, but feared to show them to her, gloves 
being her pet object of scorn. 

After they had cleared off the table, Romeo strolled 


B !mfgbta£rrant 


IOI 


over to the window. Five of the dogs were gathered 
about some small object and the yard was littered 
with bits of white. Under his breath Romeo said 
something that sounded like profanity, and Juliet 
pricked up her ears. 

“What’s the matter?” she demanded. 

“I brought home some flowers,” explained Romeo, 
carefully, for it was written in the covenant that the 
twins should never, under any circumstances, lie to 
each other, “and I must have dropped ’em. The dogs 
have tom ’em to pieces, box and all.” 

Juliet clapped her hands gleefully. “I’m glad of 
it!” 

“Why?” he asked quickly, with an uneasy sense 
that she was a mind-reader. 

“Because we’ve got so many dogs.” 

Romeo chose to take offence at the innocent 
remark and relapsed into gloomy silence. Disdaining 
to speak, Juliet curled up on the decrepit sofa with a 
book and the chocolates, and presently went to sleep. 

“Fortune favours the brave, ” he quoted to himself, 
as he tiptoed into the kitchen, cautiously closing the 
door. A subtle perfume filled the room and he sniffed 
appreciatively. An open bottle of vanilla extract 
stood on the kitchen table, where a pan of fudges was 
cooling, marked off into neat squares. He wrapped 
the pan in a newspaper, anointed his handkerchief 
liberally with the fragrant extract, and softly stole 
out into the night. 

The dogs followed him to the back fence, but did 
not bark. Only a few soft whines followed him as he 
sped down the road, thrilled with a sense of adventure 
and romance. If Juliet should happen to wake, she 
would think he had gone away because he was angry, 


102 


©lb tRose ant) Silver 


and never need know that like some misunderstood 
knight of old, he was merely upon an errand of 
chivalry for her. The fudges would do as well as the 
calla lilies, probably, though he felt instinctively that 
they were not quite as elegant. 

It was a long way to Madame Bernard’s, and 
Juliet’s knight-errant was weary, after an exhausting 
day in town. He paused outside the gate long enough 
to clean the dust from his shoes, with the most soiled 
of his two handkerchiefs, then went boldly up the 
steps and rang the bell. 

He was embarrassed to find Colonel Kent and 
Allison there, though the younger man’s tact speedily 
set him at ease again, and enabled him to offer Isabel 
the pan of fudges with unwonted grace of manner. 
Then he went over to Madame Bernard. 

“Juliet couldn’t come to-night,” he said, “but 
here’s our card.” 

Madame could not repress a smile as she read 

The Crosby Twins” engraved in the fashionable 
script of the moment. “ How very original, ” she said, 
kindly. “Nobody but you and Juliet would have 
thought of it. ” 

“Jule thought of it,” he replied, with evident 
pride. “She’s more up on etiquette than I am. ” 

“If it’s proper for husband and wife to have their 
names engraved on the same card,” Madame went 
on, “it must be all right for twins.” 

“It’s more proper,” Romeo returned, “because 
nobody is so much related as twins are. Husband 
and wife are only relatives by marriage. ” 

Colonel Kent laughed appreciatively. “Good! 
May I have some of Miss Isabel’s candy?” 

Isabel, convulsed with secret mirth, informally 


S IkntebMErrant 


103 


passed the pan, and only Romeo refused. “I can 
have ’em any time,” he said, generously. “Doesn’t 
Jule make dandy fudges, though?” 

Everybody agreed that she did. Madame Fran- 
cesca expressed something more than conventional 
regret that Juliet had not been able to come. 

“She was asleep,” Romeo explained, with studied 
indifference. 

“After she wakes,” suggested Colonel Kent, “we’d 
like very much to have you both come to our house to 
dinner.” 

“Thank you,” replied Romeo, somewhat stiffly, 
“We’d be very much pleased.” Then to himself, he 
added: “That was a lie, but it wasn’t to Jule, so it 
doesn’t matter. ” 

Rose made friendly inquiries about the dogs and 
told Allison that Romeo was said to have the finest 
collection of fishing tackle in the State. Much grati- 
fied, Romeo invited Allison to go fishing with him as 
soon as the season opened, and, as an afterthought, 
politely included the Colonel. 

“I’ve never been fishing,” remarked Isabel, as she 
could think of nothing else to say. 

“Girls are an awful bother in a boat,” Romeo 
returned, with youthful candour. “That is, except 
Juliet.” 

Isabel flushed faintly and bit her lips. To relieve 
an awkward pause, Madame Francesca asked Allison 
to play something. 

“Yes, ” said Romeo, “go on and play.” He meant 
to be particularly courteous, but his tone merely 
indicated that he would not be seriously annoyed 
by music. 

u As the first strains came from the piano and violin, 


104 


®lb IRose anD Sliver 


Romeo established himself upon the couch beside 
Isabel, and, in a low, guarded tone, began to talk 
automobile. Isabel was so much interested that she 
wholly forgot Aunt Francesca’s old-fashioned ideas 
about interrupting a player, and the conversation 
became animated. 

Both Rose and Allison had too much good sense to 
be annoyed, but occasionally, until the last chord, 
they exchanged glances of amusement. When they 
stopped, Isabel was saying: “Your suits must be just 
lovely.” 

Romeo turned with a lordly wave of the hand. 
“You don’t need to stop. Goon!” 

“How can you expect us to play properly?” in- 
quired Rose, tactfully, “when you’re talking about 
automobiles? We’d much rather listen to you.” 

“Begin over again, won’t you?” asked Allison. He 
added, with a trace of sarcasm wholly lost upon 
Romeo: “We've missed a good deal of it.” 

Thus encouraged, Romeo began again, thoughtfully 
allowing Isabel the credit of the original suggestion. 
He dwelt at length upon the fine points involved in 
the construction of “The Yellow Peril,” described 
the brown leather and the specially designed costumes, 
and was almost carried away by enthusiasm when he 
pictured the triumphant progress of the yellow car, 
followed by twenty dogs in appropriate collars. 

“Can you,” he inquired of Allison, “think of any- 
thing more like a celebration that we could do for 
Uncle?” 

“No,” replied Allison, choking back a laugh, 
“unless you went out at night, too, and had fireworks.” 

Romeo’s expressive face indicated displeasure. 
“Uncle was such a good man,” he said, in a tone 


H Uml0bt*i6rrant 


105 

of quiet rebuke, ‘‘that I don’t believe it would be 
appropriate.” 

Allison coughed and Colonel Kent hastily went to 
the window. Madame hid her face for an instant 
behind her fan and Isabel laughed openly. “ I’m sure 
he was,” said Rose, quickly. “Can you remember 
him at all?” 

“No,” Romeo responded, “we’ve never seen him, 
but he was a brick all the same. ” 

“Are you going to run the car yourself?” queried 
Rose. 

“Of course. Some day I’ll take you out,” he sug- 
gested, kindly, then turned to Isabel and played Ids 
highest trump. “Juliet said something about asking 
you to go with us the second time we went out. Of 
course it’s her place to do it. ” 

“I’d love to go,” murmured Isabel. 

“She’ll ask you when you come out to return her 
call, ” Romeo continued. 

“I’ve been meaning to come, but I’ve been waiting 
for good roads. ” 

“When you come,” he answered, “don’t say any- 
thing about my having been here. It might make her 
feel bad to think I went out calling and left her 
asleep. ” 

“All right— I won’t.” 

As soon as it was possible, without obvious effort, 
Romeo made his escape, after shaking hands with 
everyone and promising to come again very soon. 
11 I’ll bring Jule next time. Good-night ! ” 

Once outside, he ran toward home like a hunted 
wild animal, hoping with all his heart that Juliet was 
still asleep. It was probable, for more than once she 
had slept on the sofa all night. 


io6 


©ID IRose anD Stiver 


But the kindly fate that had hitherto guided him 
suddenly failed him now. When he reached home, 
panting and breathless, having discovered that it was 
almost niidnight, a drooping little figure in a torn 
kimono opened the door and fell, weeping into his 
arms. 

“Oh, Romie! Romie!” cried Juliet, hysterically. 
“Where have you been?’ 9 

“There,” he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. 
“Don’t take on so, Jule. You were asleep, so I went 
out for a walk. I met Colonel Kent and Allison and 
I’ve been with them all the evening. I’m sorry I 
stayed so long. ” 

“I haven’t lied,” he continued, to himself, exult- 
antly. “Every word is the literal truth. ” 

“Oh, Romie,” sobbed Juliet, with a fresh burst of 
tears, “I don’t care where you’ve been as long as I’ve 
got you back! We’re twins and we’ve got to stand by 
each other!” 

Romeo gently extricated himself from her clinging 
arms , then stooped to kiss her wet cheek. “You bet ! ’ * 
he whispered. 


X 


Sweet*anD»Cwent$ 

Contrary to the usual custom of woman, Isabel was 
ready fully an hour before the appointed time. She 
stood before the fire, buttoning a new glove with the 
sense of abundant leisure that new gloves demand. 
The dancing flames picked out flashes of light from the 
silver spangles of her gown and sent them into the 
farthest comers of the room. A long white plume 
nestled against her dark hair and shaded her face 
from the light, but, even in the shadow, she was 
brilliant, for her eyes sparkled and the high colour 
bloomed upon her cheeks. 

Madame Bernard and Rose sat near by, openly 
admiring her. She was almost childish in her delight 
at the immediate prospect and could scarcely wait 
for Allison to call for her. She went to the window 
and peered eagerly into the darkness, waiting. 

"Isabel, my dear,” said Madame, kindly, "never 
wait at the window for an unmarried man. Nor,” 
she added as an afterthought, "for a married man, 
unless he happens to be your own husband.” 

Isabel turned back into the room, smiling, her 
colour a little brighter than before. "Why not?” 

"Men keep best,” returned Madame, somewhat 
enigmatically, "in a cool, dry atmosphere. If you’ll 
107 


io8 


©Id IRose and Silver 


remember that fact, it may save you trouble in the 
years to come. ” 

“Such worldly wisdom,” laughed Rose, “from such 
an unworldly woman!” 

“I do love the theatre,” Isabel sighed, “and I 
haven’t seen a play for a long time.” 

“I’m afraid we haven’t done as much as we might 
to make it pleasant for you,” Madame continued, 
regretfully, “but we’ll try to do better and doubtless 
can, now that the weather is improving.” 

“It’s been lots nicer than staying alone in a hotel,” 
the girl answered. “I used to go to the matinde a 
good deal, but I didn’t know very many people and 
it’s no fun to go alone. Don’t you and Rose ever go, 
Aunt Francesca?” 

“I go sometimes,” said Rose, “but I can’t even 
get her started.” 

The little grey lady laughed and tapped the arm of 
her chair with her folded fan. “ I fully agree with the 
clever man who said that ‘life would be very endurable 
were it not for its pleasures. ’ Far back, somewhere, 
there must be a strain of Scotch ancestry in me, for I 
‘take my pleasure sadly.’ ” 

“Which means,” commented Rose, “that the 
things other people find amusing do not necessarily 
amuse you. ” 

“Possibly,” Madame assented, with a shrug of her 
delicate shoulders, “but unless I’m obliged to, I won’t 
sit in an uncomfortable chair, in a crowd, surrounded 
by many perfumes unhappily mixed, be played to by 
a bad orchestra, walked on at will by rude men, and 
in the meantime, watch the exaggerated antics of 
people who cannot make themselves heard, even in a 
room with only three sides to it.” 


Sweet-anb^wentg 


109 


“I took her to a ‘musical comedy* once, in a 
frivolous moment,” explained Rose, “and she’s never 
forgiven me.” 

“Why remind me of it?” questioned Madame. 
“I’ve been endeavouring for years to forget it.” 

Isabel’s eyes wandered anxiously to the clock. She 
had a strong impulse to go to the window again, but 
remembered that Madame would not approve. 

Presently there was the sound of wheels outside, 
and Allison, very handsome in his evening clothes, 
came in with an apology for his tardiness. After 
greeting Madame Bernard and Rose, he bowed to 
Isabel, with a mock deference which, none the less, 
contained subtle flattery. 

“Silver Girl,” he said, “you do me too much 
honour. I’m not at all sure that one escort is sufficient 
for so much loveliness.” 

Isabel smiled, then dimpled irresistibly. She had a 
secret sense of triumph which she did not stop to 
analyse. 

“Come,” he said. “In the words of the poet, ‘the 
carriage waits. ’ ” 

They said good-night to the others, and went out. 
There was silence in the room until the sound of 
wheels had quite died away, then Rose sighed. With 
a swift pang, she envied Isabel’s glorious youth, then 
the blood retreated from her heart in shame. 

Madame sighed too, but for a different reason. 
“I suppose I shouldn’t say it,” she remarked, “but 
it’s a relief to have that dear child out of the house 
for a little while. ” 

“It’s kind of Allison to take her,” Rose answered, 
trying not to wish that she might change places with 
Isabel. 


©tt> IRosc ant) Silver 


no I 

“Very kind. The Kents are singularly decent 
about everything. I suppose it [was Allison who 
managed to have Romeo Crosby call upon her the 
other evening. ” 

“I hardly think so. You remember that Allison 
hadn’t seen him since he grew up.” 

“Shot up, you mean. How rapidly weeds grow!” 

“Are the twins weeds?” 

“I think so. Still, they’re a wholesome and stimu- 
lating sort, even though they have done just as they 
pleased.” 

The fire died down into embers. The stillness would 
have been unbearable had it not been for the steady 
ticking of the clock. Madame leaned back in her 
chair and closed her eyes. Rose tried to read, but 
could not concentrate her mind upon the page. 

Her thoughts were far away, with the two who had 
so recently left the house. In fancy she saw the 
brilliantly lighted streets, the throng of pleasure 
seekers and pretty women in gay attire. She heard 
the sound of wheels, the persistent “honk-honk” of 
motor-cars, and, in the playhouse, the crash of cym- 
bals and drums. Somewhere in the happy crowd 
were Allison and Isabel, while she sat in silence at 
home. 

Madame Francesca stirred in her chair. “I’ve 
been asleep, I think.” 

“You’re not going to wait until they come home, 
are you?” 

“Why should I? Isabel has a key. ” 

Rose remembered how Aunt Francesca had in- 
variably waited for her, when some gallant cavalier 
had escorted her to opera or play, and was foolishly 
glad, for no discoverable reason. 


Sweet*anfc*Uwentp 


hi 


T 11 1 was dreaming,” Madame went on, drowsily, 
44 of the little house where Love lived.” 

‘‘Where was it?” asked Rose gently. 

“You know. I’ve told you of the little house in 
the woods where I went as a bride, when I was no 
older than Isabel. When we turned the key and went 
away, we must have left some of our love there. I’ve 
never been back, but I like to think that some of the 
old-time sweetness is still in the house, shut away like 
a jewel of great price, safe from meddling hands.” 

Only once before, in the fifteen years they had lived 
together, had Madame Bernard spoken of her brief 
marriage, yet Rose knew, by a thousand little be- 
trayals, that the past was not dead, but vitally alive. 

“I can bear it,” said Madame, half to herself, 
“because I have been his wife. If he had been taken 
away before we were married, I should have gone, too. 
But now I have only to wait until God brings us 
together again. ” 

Outwardly, Rose was calm and unperturbed; in- 
wardly, tense and unstrung. She wondered if. at last, 
the sorrow had been healed enough for speech. Up- 
stairs there was a room that was always locked. No 
one but Aunt Francesca ever entered it, and she but 
rarely. Once or twice, Rose had chanced to see her 
coming through the open door, transfigured by some 
spiritual exaltation too great for words. For days 
afterward there was about her a certain uplift of soul, 
fading gradually into her usual serenity. 

Mr. Boffin stalked in, jumped into Madame’s lap, 
and began to purr industriously. She laughed as she 
stroked his tawny head and the purr increased rapidly 
in speed and volume. 

“Don’t let him burst himself,” cautioned Rose, 


112 


IRose ant) Silver 


welcoming the change of mood. “ I never knew a cat 
to purr so — well, so thoroughly, did you?” 

“He’s lost his hold of the brake,” Madame 
answered. “ Are you going to wait until Isabel comes 
home?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Then let’s go up and read for a little while.” 

Rose waited until Madame was half-way up the 
long flight before she turned down the lights and 
followed her. It made a pretty picture — the little 
white-haired lady in grey on the long stairway, with 
the yellow cat upon her shoulder, looking back with 
the inscrutable calmness of the Sphinx. 

Rose felt that, for herself, sleep would be impossible 
until Isabel returned. She hoped that Aunt Francesca 
would not want her to read aloud, but, as it chanced, 
she did. However, the chosen book was of the sort 
which banishes insomnia, and, in less than an hour, 
Madame was sound asleep, with Mr. Boffin purring 
in his luxurious silk-lined basket at the foot of her 
bed. 

Alone in her own room, Rose waited, frankly 
jealous of her young cousin and fiercely despising 
herself for it. She recalled the happy hours she and 
Allison had spent with their music and berated her- 
self bitterly for her selfishness, but to no avail. As the 
hours dragged by, every moment seemed an eternity. 
Worn by her unaccustomed struggle with self, she 
finally slept. 

Meanwhile, Isabel was the gayest of the gay. The 
glittering lights of the playhouse formed a fitting 
background for her, and Allison watched her beautiful, 
changing face with an ever-increasing sense of delight. 
The play itself was an old story to him, but the girl 


Sweet*anfc*Uwent£ 


113 

was a new sensation, and while she watched the 
mimic world beyond the footlights, he watched her. 

The curtain of the first act descended upon a 
woman, waiting at the window for a man who did not 
come, and, most happily, Isabel remembered the con- 
versation at home in the earlier part of the evening. 

“ Foolish woman,” she said, “to wait at the 
window. ” 

“Why?” asked Allison, secretly amused. 

“I wouldn’t wait at the window for an unmarried 
man, nor for a married men, either, unless he was my 
own husband.” 

“Why?” he asked, again. 

“Because men keep best in a cool, dry atmosphere. 
Didn’t you know that?” 

“How did you happen to discover it, Sweet-and- 
Twenty?” 

Isabel answered with a smile, which meant much or 
little, as one chose. Presently she remembered some- 
thing else that happened to be useful. 

“Look,” she said, indicating a man in the front 
seat who had fallen asleep. “ He’s taking his pleasure 
sadly.” 

“Perhaps he’s happier to be asleep. He may not 
care for the play. ” 

“Somebody once said,” she went on hastily, seeing 
that she was making a good impression, “that life 
would be very endurable were it not for its pleasures.” 

Allison laughed. He had the sense of discovering 
a bright star that had been temporarily overshadowed 
by surrounding planets. 

“ I didn’t know you could talk so well, ” he observed, 
with evident admiration. 

Isabel flushed with pleasure — not guilt. She had 
8 


®R> 1 Rose a nfc Silver 


114 

no thought of sailing under false colours, but reflected 
the life about her as innocently as a mirror might, if 
conveniently placed. 

Repeated curtain calls for the leading woman, at 
the end of the third act, delayed the final curtain by 
the few minutes that would have enabled them to 
catch the earlier of the two theatre trains. Allison 
was not wholly displeased, though he feared that 
Aunt Francesca and Rose might be unduly anxious 
about Isabel. As they had more than an hour and a 
half to wait, before the last train, he suggested going 
to a popular restaurant. 

Thrilled with pleasure and excitement, she eagerly 
consented. Fortunately, she did not have to talk 
much, for the chatter of the gay crowd, and the hard- 
working orchestra made conversation difficult, if not 
impossible. 

“I’ve never been in a place like this before, ,, she 
ventured. “So late, I mean.” 

“But you enjoy it, don't you?” 

“Oh, yes! So much!” The dark eyes that turned 
to his were full of happy eagerness, like a child’s. 

Allison’s pulses quickened, with man’s insatiable 
love of Youth. “We’ll do it again,” he said, “if 
you’ll come with me.” 

“I will, if Aunt Francesca will let me.” 

“ She’s willing to trust you with me, I think. She’s 
known me ever since I was bom and she helped father 
bring me up. Aunt Francesca has been like a mother 
to me.” 

“She says she doesn’t care for the theatre,” re- 
sumed Isabel, who did not care to talk about Aunt 
Francesca, “but I love it. I believe I could go every 
night.” 


Sweet*anfc*UwentE 


115 

u Don’t make the mistake of going too often to see 
what pleases you, for you might tire of it. Perhaps 
plays 'keep best in a cool, dry atmosphere,’ as you 
say men do.” 

“You’re laughing at me,” she said, reproachfully. 

“Indeed I’m not. I knew a man once who fell 
desperately in love with a woman, and, as soon as he 
found that she cared for him, he started for the 
uttermost ends of the earth.” 

“What for?” 

“That they might not risk losing their love for each 
other, through satiety. You know it’s said to die 
more often of indigestion than starvation.” 

“I don’t know anything about it,” she murmured 
with downcast eyes. 

“You will, though, before long. Some awkward, 
half-baked young man about twenty will come to you, 
bearing the divine fire.” 

“I don’t know any,” she answered. 

“How about the pleasing child who called upon 
you the other night, with the imported bonbons?” 
Allison’s tone was not wholly kind, for he had just 
discovered that he did not like Romeo Crosby. 

Isabel became fairly radiant with smiles. 

“Wasn’t he too funny?” 

“ He’s all right, ” returned Allison, generously. “ I’m 
afraid, however, that he’ll be taking you out so much 
that I won’t have a chance. ” 

“Oh, no!” said Isabel, softly. Then she added 
with frankness utterly free from coquetry, “ I like you 
much better. ” 

“Really? Why, please?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re so much more, well, 
grown-up, you know, and more refined.” 


Ii6 


Qlb IRose anb Silver 


41 Thank you. I’m glad the slight foreign polish 
distinguishes me somewhat.” 

“Cousin Rose said you were very distinguished.” 
She watched him narrowly as she spoke. 

44 So is Cousin Rose. In fact, no one could be more 
so,” he answered, with evident approval. 

44 Is she going to play your accompaniments for you, 
when you begin the season?” 

A shadow crossed his face. “I’m afraid not. I 
wish she could.” 

“Why can’t she?” 

“On account of Madame Grundy. It wouldn’t be 
proper.” 

“I don’t see why,” objected Isabel, daringly. 
“She’s ten years older than you are.” 

Allison bit his lips and the expression of his face 
subtly changed. “You’re ten years younger,” he 
replied, coldly, “and I couldn’t take you. That 
doesn’t make any difference.” 

Seeing that she had made a mistake, Isabel sat 
quietly in her chair and watched the people around 
her until it was time to go. Greatly to her delight, 
they went to the station in an automobile. 

“Isn’t this glorious!” she cried. “I’m so glad the 
Crosbys are going to have one. I hope they’ll take me 
often.” 

With the sure instinct of Primitive Woman, she had 
said the one thing calculated to make Allison forget 
his momentary change of mood. 

“I’m sorry I have none,” he said. “ 1 Romeo, 
Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? ’ How times have 
changed! The modem Lochinvar has a touring-car, 
and some day you’ll be eloping in the most up-to-date 
fashion. ” 


Sweefcsan&^wents 


117 

“ What makes you talk to me about him?” queried 
Isabel, with uplifted eyes. “You know I don’t like 
him.” 

“All right,” he answered, good-naturedly. “I 
won’t. I hope Aunt Francesca won’t be worried 
about you because we’re so late in getting back.” 

“ I don’t see why she should mind. Mamma never 
cares what I do. She’s often been away for weeks, 
lecturing, and I’ve been in the hotel alone.” 

He repressed the uncharitable comment that was 
upon his lips and reverted to the subject of the play. 
“ I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it. I wanted you to have a 
good time.” 

“I’ve had the best time I ever had in my life,” she 
responded, with evident sincerity. “Isn’t it wonder- 
ful what they can do with a room that has only three 
sides?” 

“It surely is. I’ve had a good time, too, Silver 
Girl. Thank you for coming. ” 

“You’re welcome,” she returned sweetly. 

The carriage was waiting at the station, and Isabel 
was very quiet all the way home. Thinking that she 
must be tired, Allison said little until they reached 
Madame Bernard’s, and he had seen her safely into 
the house. He insisted upon taking off her gloves and 
coat and would have extended his friendly services to 
her hat, had she not laughingly forbade him to touch 
it. 

“Good-night,” he said. “We’ll go again soon.” 

“All right. Good-night, and thank you ever so 
much.” 

The sound of the key in the lock had wakened Rose 
from her uneasy sleep. She heard their laughter, 
though she could not distinguish what they said. 


Ii8 


©R> IRose a n5 Silver 


and recognised a new tone in Allison's voice. She 
heard the door close, the carriage roll away, and, 
after a little, Isabel’s hushed footsteps on the stairs. 
Then another door closed softly and a light glimmered 
afar into the garden until the shade was drawn. 

Wide-eyed and fearful, she slept no more, for the 
brimming Cup of Joy, that had seemed wdthin her 
reach, was surely beyond it now. Oppressed w T ith loss 
and pain, her heart beat slowly, as though it were 
weary of living. Until daybreak she wondered if he. 
too, was keeping the night watch, from a wholly 
different point of view. 

But, man-like, Allison had long ago gone to sleep, 
in the big Colonial house beyond the turn in the road, 
idly humming to himself : 

4 4 Come and kiss me, Sweet-and-T wenty ; 

Youth’s a stuff will not endure!” 


XI 


keeping tbe ffaitb 

Colonel Kent and Allison critically surveyed the 
table, where covers were laid for seven. “Someway 
it lacks the ‘grand air* of Madame Bernard’s, ” com- 
mented the Colonel, “yet I can’t see anything wrong, 
can you?’’ 

“ Not a thing, ’ ’ Allison returned . 4 ‘ The * grand air * 
you allude to comes, I think, from Aunt Francesca 
herself. When she takes her place opposite you, I’m 
sure we shall compare very favourably with our 
neighbours. *’ 

The Crosby twins arrived first, having chartered 
the station hack for the evening. As the minds of 
both were above such minor details as clothes, their 
attire was of the nondescript variety, but their 
exuberant youth and high spirits gallantly concealed 
all defects and the tact of their hosts quickly set them 
both at their ease. 

Romeo somewhat ostentatiously left their card upon 
the mantel, so placed that all who came near might 
read in fashionable script: “The Crosby Twins.” 
Having made this concession to the conventionalities, 
he lapsed at once into an agreeable informality that 
amused the Colonel very much. 

Soon the Colonel was describing some of the great 
battles in which he had taken part, and Romeo 

IIO 


120 


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listened with an eager interest which was all the more 
flattering because it was so evidently sincere. In the 
library, meanwhile, Allison was renewing his old 
acquaintance with Juliet. 

“You used to be a perfect little devil,” he smiled. 

“I am yet,” Juliet admitted, with a frank laugh. 
“At least people say so. Romie and I aren’t popular 
with our neighbours.” 

“That doesn’t speak well for the neighbours. Were 
they never young themselves?” 

“ I don’t believe so. I’ve thought, sometimes, that 
lots of people were born grown-up.” 

“They say abroad, that there are no children in 
America — that they are merely little people treated 
like grown-ups. ” 

“The modem American child is a horror,” said 
Juliet, unconsciously quoting from an article in a 
recent magazine. “They’re ill bred and they don’t 
mind, and there’s nobody who wants to make ’em 
mind except people who have no authority to do it.” 

“Why isdt?” inquired Allison, secretly amused. 

“Because spanking has gone out of fashion,” she 
answered, in all seriousness. “It takes so much 
longer for moral suasion to work. Romie and I never 
had any ‘moral suasion, ’ — we were brought up right. ” 

Juliet’s tone indicated a deep filial respect for her 
departed parents and there was a far-away look in her 
blue eyes which filled Allison with tender pity. 

“You must be lonely sometimes,” he said, kindly. 

“Lonely?” repeated Juliet in astonishment; “why, 
how could I ever be lonely with Rofhie?” 

“Of course you couldn’t be lonely when he was 
there, but you must miss him when he’s away from 
you.” 


keeping tbe Jfattb 


121 


“He’s never away,” she answered, with a toss of 
her curly head. “We’re most always together, unless 
he goes to town — or up to your house,” she added, as 
an afterthought. 

Allison was about to say that Romeo had never 
been there before, but wisely kept silent. 

“ Twins are the most related of anybody,” Juliet 
went on. “An older brother or sister may get ahead 
of you and be so different that you never catch up, 
but twins have to trot right along together. It’s 
just the difference between tandem and double 
harness.” 

“Suppose Romeo should marry?” queried Allison, 
carelessly. 

“ I’d die, ” replied Juliet, firmly, her cheeks burning 
as with flame. 

“Or suppose you married?” 

“Then Romie would die,” she answered, with con- 
viction. “We’ve both promised not to get married 
and we always keep our promises to each other.” 

“And to other people, too?” 

“Not always. Sometimes it’s necessary to break a 
promise, or to lie, but never to each other. If Romie 
asks me anything I don’t want to tell him, I just say 
‘King’s X,’ and if I ask him anything, he says ‘it’s 
none of your business, ’ and it’s all right. Twins have 
to be square with each other. ” 

“Don’t you ever quarrel?” 

“We may differ, and of course we have fought 
sometimes, but it doesn’t last long. We can always 
arbitrate. Say, do you know Isabel Ross?” 

“I have that pleasure. She’s coming to dinner 
to-night, with Aunt Francesca and Miss Rose.” 

“ Oh, ” said Juliet, in astonishment. “ If I’d known 


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that, I’d have dressed up more. I thought it was 
just us. ” 

“It is ‘just us,’ ” he assured her, kindly; “a very 
small and select party composed of our most charming 
neighbours, and believe me, my dear Miss Juliet, that 
nobody could possibly be ‘dressed up more.’ ” 

Juliet bloomed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled. 
“Isabel came out to see us,” she continued, “and I 
don't think she had a good time. We showed her all 
our fishing rods, and let her help us make fudges, and 
we did stunts for her on the trapeze in the attic, and 
Romie told her she could have any one of our dogs, 
but she said she didn’t want it, and she wouldn’t stay 
to supper. I guess she thought I couldn’t cook just 
because she can’t. Romie said if I’d make another 
chocolate cake like the one I made the day after she 
was there, he’d take it up to her and show her whether 
I could cook or not. ” 

“I believe he would,” returned Allison, with a 
trace of sarcasm which Juliet entirely missed. Then 
he laughed at the vision of Romeo bearing the proof 
of his twin’s culinary skill into Madame Bernard’s 
living room. 

“You come out and see us,” urged Juliet, hospitably. 

“I will, indeed. May I have a dog?” 

“They’re Romie’s and I can’t give ’em away, but I 
guess he could spare you one. Would you rather have 
a puppy or a full-grown dog?” 

“I’d have to see ’em first,” he replied, tactfully 
steering away from the danger of a choice. He had 
not felt the need of a dog and was merely trying to be 
pleasant. 

“ There’s plenty to see, ” she went on, with a winning 
smile. “I like dogs myself but we fought once be- 


TKeeping t be jfaitb 


12* 

cause I thought we had too many. We’ve named ’em 
all out of an old book we found in the attic. There’s 
Achilles, and Hector, and Persephone, and Minerva, 
and Circe and Juno, and Priam, and Eurydice, and 
goodness knows how many more. Romie knows all 
their names, but I don’t.” 

Hearing the sound of wheels outside, Colonel Kent, 
with a certain old-fashioned hospitality to which our 
generation might happily return, went to open the 
door himself for his expected guests. Juliet went 
hastily to the mirror to make sure that her turbulent 
curls were in order, and Romeo intercepted Allison 
on his way to the door. 

“I heard what she said,” Romeo remarked, in a 
low tone, “about my having been up here, but I 
didn’t tell her I was here. I don’t lie to Jule, but I’m 
responsible only for what I say, not for what she 
thinks. ” 

Allison smiled with full understanding of the 
situation. “We men have to be careful what we say 
to women,” he replied, with an air of caution and 
comradeship that made his young guest feel like a 
full-fledged man of the world. 

“Sure,” assented Romeo, with a broad grin and a 
movement of one eyelid which was almost — but not 
quite — a wink. 

Presently the three other guests came in, followed 
by the Colonel. Madame Francesca was in white 
silk over which violets had been scattered with a 
lavish hand, then woven into the shining fabric. She 
wore violets in her hair and at her belt, and a single 
amethyst at her throat. Isabel was in white, with 
flounces of spangled lace, and Rose was unusually 
lovely in a gown of old gold satin and a necklace of 


124 


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palest topaz. In her dark hair was a single yellow 
rose. 

Juliet was for the moment aghast at so much mag- 
nificence and painfully conscious of her own white 
muslin gown. Madame Francesca, reading her 
thought, drew the girl’s tall head down and kissed her. 
“What a clover blossom you are,” she said, “all in 
freshest white, with pink cheeks and sunshiny curls!” 

Thus fortified, Juliet did not mind Isabel’s instinc- 
tive careful appraisement of her gown, and she missed, 
happily, the evident admiration with which Romeo’s 
eyes followed Isabel’s every movement. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me?” Allison was asking Rose, 
“so I could have ransacked the town for golden 
roses?” 

“I’ve repeatedly done it myself,” laughed Rose, 
“without success. I usually save my yellow gowns 
for June when all the yellow rose bushes in the garden 
may lavish their wealth upon me.” 

“Happy rose,” Allison returned, lightly, “to die in 
so glorious a cause.” 

The twins were almost at the point of starvation 
when dinner was announced, though they had par- 
taken liberally of bread and butter and jam just before 
leaving home. Romeo had complained a little but 
had not been sufficiently Spartan to refuse the offered 
refreshment. 

“I don’t see why you want to feed me now and 
spoil my dinner,” he grumbled, as he reached out for 
a second slice. 

“I don’t want to spoil your dinner,” Juliet had 
answered, with her mouth full. “Can’t you see I’m 
eating, too? We don’t want to be impolite when 
we’re invited out, and eat too much.” 


•keeping tbe ffaitb 


125 


“ You’ve been reading the etiquette book,” re- 
marked Romeo, with unusual insight, “and there’s 
more foolish things in that book than in any other 
we’ve got. When we’re invited out to eat, why 
shouldn’t we eat? They may have been cooking for 
days just to get ready for us and they won’t like it if 
we only pick at things.” 

“Maybe they want some left,” Juliet replied 
brushing aside the crumbs. “I remember how mad 
Mamma was once when the minister ate two pieces of 
pie and she had to make another the next day or 
divide one piece between you and me.” 

“I’ll bet she made another. She always fed us, 
and I remember that the kids around the comer 
couldn’t even have bread and molasses between 
meals.” 

On the way to the dining-room, Juliet drew her 
brother aside and whispered to him: “Watch the 
others, then you’ll be sure of getting the right fork.” 

“Huh!” he returned, resentfully, having been 
accustomed to only one fork since - he and Juliet 
began to keep house for themselves. 

When he saw the array of silver at his plate, 
however, he blessed her for the hint. As the dinner 
progressed by small portions of oysters, soup, and 
fish, he gratefully remembered the bread and jam. 
The twins noted that the others always left a little 
on their plates, but proudly disdained the subterfuge 
for themselves. 

Madame Francesca sat opposite the Colonel and 
Rose was at his right. Romeo sat next to her 
and across from them was Allison, between Isabel 
and Juliet. 

Somewhat subdued by the unfamiliar situation. 


126 


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the twins said very little during dinner. Juliet took 
careful note of the appointments of the table and 
dining-room, and of the gowns the other women wore. 
When Romeo was not occupied with his dinner and 
the various forks, he watched Isabel with frank 
admiration, and wondered what made the difference 
between her and Juliet. 

Everybody tried to produce general conversation, 
but could extract only polite monosyllables from the 
twins. Questions addressed directly to them were 
briefly answered by “yes” or “no,” or “I don’t 
know,” or, more often, by a winning smile which 
included them all. 

Had it not been for Madame Francesca, gallantly 
assisted by the Colonel, the abnormal silence of the 
younger guests might have reacted unfavourably upon 
the entertainment, for Isabel was as quiet as she 
usually was, in the presence of her aunt and cousin. 
Allison became unable to think of topics of general 
interest, and Rose’s efforts to talk pleasantly while 
her heart was aching were no more successful than 
such efforts usually are. 

But Madame Francesca, putting aside the burden 
of her seventy years, laughed and talked and told 
stories with all the zest of a girl. Inspired by her 
shining example, the Colonel dragged forth a few 
musty old anecdotes and offered them for inspection. 
They were new to the younger generation, and 
Madame affected to find them new also. 

Rose wondered at her, as often, envying her the 
gift of detachment. The fear that had come upon 
Rose at midnight was with her still, haunting her, 
waking or sleeping, like some evil thing. Proudly she 
said to herself that she would seek no man, though 


1 keeping tbe jfattb 


127 


her heart should break for love of him; that though 
her soul writhed in anguish, neither he nor the woman 
who took him from her should ever even suspect she 
cared. 

She forced herself to meet Allison’s eyes with a 
smile, to answer his questions, and to put in a word, 
now and then, when Madame or the Colonel paused. 
Yet, with every sense at its keenest, she noted Isabel’s 
downcast eyes, the self-conscious air with which 
Allison spoke to her, and the exaggerated considera- 
tion of Juliet which he instinctively adopted as a 
shield. She saw, too, that Isabel was secretly an- 
noyed whenever Allison spoke to Juliet, and easily 
translated the encouraging air with which Isabel met 
Romeo’s admiring glances. Once, when he happened 
to turn quickly enotigh to see, a shadow crossed 
Allison’s face and he bit his lips. 

“How civilised the world has become,” Madame 
was saying, lightly. “The mere breaking of bread 
together precludes all open hostility. Bitter enemies 
may meet calmly at the dinner table of a mutual 
friend, and I understand that, in the higher circles in 
which we do not care to move, a man may escort his 
divorced wife out to dinner, and, without bitterness, 
congratulate her upon her approaching marriage.” 

“I've often thought,” returned the Colonel, more 
seriously, “that the modern marriage service should 
be changed to read ‘until death or divorce do us part. ’ 
It’s highly inconsistent as it stands.” 

“ ‘Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,’ ” 
she quoted. “Inconsistency goes as far toward mak- 
ing life attractive as its pleasures do toward spoiling 
it.” 

“What do you call pleasure?” queried Allison. 


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“The unsought joy. If you go out to hunt for it, 
you don't often get it. When you do, you've earned 
it and are entitled to it. True pleasure is a free gift 
of the gods, like a sense of humour." 

By some oblique and unsuspected way, the words 
brought a certain comfort to Rose. Without bitter- 
ness, she remembered that Allison had once said: “In 
any true mating, they both know." Over and over 
again she said to herself, stubbornly: “I will have 
nothing that is not true — nothing that is not true. " 

It was a wise hostess who discovered the fact that 
changing rooms may change moods; that many a 
successful dinner has an aftermath in the drawing- 
room as cold and dismal as a party call. Madame 
Francesca had once characterised the hour after 
dinner as “the stick of a sky-rocket, which never fails 
to return and bring disillusion with it." Hence she 
postponed it as long as she could, but the Colonel 
himself gave the signal by moving back his chair. 

An awkward pause followed, which lasted until 
Rose went to the piano of her own accord and began 
to play. At length she drifted into the running chords 
of a familiar accompaniment* and Allison took his 
violin and joined in. As he stood by Rose, the mere 
fact of his nearness brought her a strange peace. Had 
she looked up, she would have seen that though he 
stood so near her, he had eyes only for Isabel and was 
playing to her alone. 

Isabel did not seem to care. She sat with her hands 
folded idly in her lap, occasionally glancing at the 
twins who sat together on a sofa across the room. 
Madame Bernard and the Colonel had gone out on 
the balcony that opened off of the library. 

The night was cool, yet had in it the softness of 


Tkeepina t be jfattb 


119 

May. Every wandering wind brought a subtle, 
exquisite fragrance from orchards blooming afar. 
High in the heavens swung the pale gold moon of 
Spring. 

“ What a night, ” said Madame, almost in a whisper. 
u It seems almost as if there never had been another 
Spring.” 

“And as if there never would be another.” 

“That may be true, for one or both of us,” she 
replied, with unwonted sadness. 

“My work is done,” sighed the Colonel. “I have 
only to wait now. ” 

“Sometimes I think that all of Life is waiting,” she 
went on, with a little catch in her voice, “and yet we 
never know what we were waiting for, unless — when 
all is done ” 

A warm, friendly hand closed over hers. “ Do not 
question too much, dear friend, for the God who 
ordained the beginning can safely be trusted with the 
end, as well as with all that lies between. Do you 
know,” he continued, in a different tone, “a night 
like this always makes me think of those wonderful 
lines: 

" ‘The blessed damozel leaned out 
From the gold bar of Heaven; 

Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even; 

She had three lilies in her hand 
And the stars in her hair were seven.* ** 

Francesca's eyes filled and the stars swam before 
her, for she remembered the three white lilies the 
Colonel had put into the still hands of his boy's 
mother, just before the casket was closed. “I 
wonder,” she breathed, “if — they — know.” 


9 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


130 

“I wonder, too,” he said. 

The strains of the violin floated out upon the 
scented night, vibrant with love and longing, with 
passion and pain. Something had come into the 
music that was never there before, but only Rose 
knew it. 

“Richard,” said Francesca, suddenly, “if you 
should go first, and it should be as we hope and pray 
it may be — if people know each other there, and can 
speak and be understood, will you tell him that I am 
keeping the faith; that I have only been waiting since 
we parted?” 

“Yes. And if it should be the other way, will you 
tell her that I, too, am waiting and keeping the faith, 
and that I have done well with our boy?” 

“I will,” she promised. 

The last chord of violin and piano died into silence. 
Colonel Kent bent down and lifted Madame’s hand 
to his lips, then they went in together. 


XII 


Hn BncbanteD Ibour 

The days dragged on so wearily that, to Rose, the 
hours seemed unending. Allison came to the house 
frequently, but seldom spoke of his music; for more 
than a week, he did not ask her to play at all. On the 
rare occasions when he brought his violin with him, 
the old harmony seemed entirely gone. The pianist’s 
fingers often stumbled over the keys even though 
Allison played with new authority and that magical 
power that goes by the name of “inspiration,” for 
want of a better word. 

Once she made a mistake, changing a full chord 
into a dissonance so harsh and nerve-racking that 
Allison shuddered, then frowned. When they had 
finished, he turned to her, saying, kindly: “You’re 
tired, Rose. I’ve been a selfish brute and let you 
work too hard. ” 

Quick denial was on her lips, but she stopped in 
time and followed his lead gracefully. “Yes, and my 
head aches, too.* If all of you will excuse me, I’ll go 
up and rest for a little while.” 

Evening after evening, she made the same excuse, 
longing for her own room, with a locked and bolted 
door between her and the outer world. Lonely and 
miserable though she was, she had at least the sense 
of shelter. Pride, too, sustained her, for, looking back 
. 131 


132 


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to the night they met, months ago, she could remem* 
ber no word nor act, or even a look of hers that had 
been out of keeping. 

Over and over again she insisted to herself, stub- 
bornly: “ I will have nothing that is not true — nothing 
that is not true. ” In the midnight silences, when she 
lay wide awake, though all the rest of the world slept, 
the words chimed in with her heart-beats: “Nothing 
that is not true — nothing — that is — not true.” 

Madame Francesca, loving Rose dearly, became 
sorely troubled and perplexed. She could not fail to 
see and understand, and, at times, feared that Allison 
and Isabel must see and understand also. She 
watched Rose faithfully and shielded her at every 
possible point. When Isabel inquired why Rose was 
always tired in the evening, Madame explained that 
she had been working too hard and that she had made 
her promise to rest. 

Rose spent more time than usual at the piano but 
she neglected her own work in favour of Allison’s 
accompaniments. When she was alone, she could 
play them creditably, even without the notes, but if 
by any chance, he stood beside her, waiting until the 
prelude was finished, she faltered at the first sound of 
the violin. 

At last she gave it up and kept more and more to 
her own room. Madame meditated upon the ad- 
visability of sending Isabel away, providing it could 
be done gracefully, or even taking her on some brief 
journey, thus leaving Rose in full possession of the 
house. 

Yet, in her heart, she knew that it would be only a 
subterfuge; that it was better to meet the issues of 
Life squarely than to attempt to hide from them. 


Bn lEncbanteb Ibour 


133 


since inevitably all must be met. She could not bear 
to see Rose hurt, nor could she endure easily the 
spectacle of her beloved foster son upon the verge of a 
lifelong mistake. Several times she thought of talking 
to Colonel Kent, and, more rarely, of speaking to 
Allison himself,, but she had learned to apply to speech 
the old maxim referring tc letter- writing: “When in 
doubt, don't. ” 

It happened that Allison came late one afternoon, 
when Isabel had gone to town in search of new finery 
and Rose was in her own room. Madame had just 
risen from her afternoon nap, and, after he had 
waited a few moments, she came down. 

“Where’s Isabel?” he asked, as he greeted her. 

“Shopping,” smiled Madame. 

“ I know, but I thought she’d be at home by this 
time. She told me she was coming out on the earlier 
train.” 

“She may have met someone and gone to the 
matinde. It’s Wednesday. ” 

“ She didn’t need to do that. I’ll take her whenever 
she wants to go and she knows it. ” 

“I didn’t say she had gone — I only said she might 
have gone. She may be waiting for the trimming of a 
hat to be changed, or for an appointment with tailor 
or dressmaker or manicure, or any one of a thousand 
other things. When you see her, she can doubtless 
give a clear account of herself.” 

“Did Rose go with her?” he asked, after a brief 
pause. 

“No, she’s asleep,” sighed Madame. “Allison, 
I’m worried about Rose and have been for some 
time. She isn’t well. ” 

“I thought something was wrong,” he replied. 


134 


©lb IRose a nb Sliver 


without interest. “She can’t seem to play even the 
simplest accompaniment any more, and she used to do 
wonders, even with heavy work.” 

“I think,” ventured Madame, cautiously, “that 
she needs to get out more. If someone would take her 
for a walk or a drive every day, it would do her good. ” 

“Probably,” assented Allison, with a far-away look 
in his eyes. “ If you want to borrow our horses at any 
time, Aunt Francesca, when yours are not available, 
I hope you’ll feel free to telephone for them. - They’re 
almost eating their heads off and the exercise would 
do them good.” 

“Thank you,” she answered, shortly. Allison 
noted the veiled sharpness of her tone and wondered 
w r hy anyone should take even slight offence at the 
friendly offer of a coach and pair. 

“It must be nearly time for the next train,” he 
resumed. “Is there anyone at the station to meet 
Isabel?” 

“Nobody but the coachman and the carriage,” 
returned Madame, dryly. “I’m not in the habit of 
being asked whether or not I have made proper 
provision for my guests.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Aunt Francesca. I vrould have 
known, of course, if I had stopped to think.” 

“How is your father?” she put in, abruptly. 

“All right, I guess. He’s making a garden and the 
whole front yard is tom up as though sewer pipes 
were about to be put in. ” 

Madame’s heart softened with pity, for she knew 
that only loneliness would have set the Colonel to 
gardening. “I must go over and see it,” she said, in 
a different tone. “My valuable advice hasn’t been 
asked, but I think I could help a little.” 


Bn Bncbanteb Ibour 


135 


4 ‘Undoubtedly. Your own garden is one of the 
loveliest I have ever seen. Isn’t that the train?” 

44 I think so. If Isabel comes, I believe I’ll leave you 
to entertain her while I drive over to inspect the new 
garden. ” 

She was oppressed, as never before, by the necessity 
of speech, and, of all those around her, Colonel Kent 
was the only one to whom it would be possible for her 
to say a word. She did not stop to consider what she 
could accomplish by it, for in her heart, she knew that 
she was helpless — also that a great deal of the trouble 
in the world has not been caused by silence. 

Allison drummed on the arm of his chair until he 
heard the rumble of wheels, then went to the window. 
41 It’s Isabel, ” he announced, joyously. 44 I’ll go down 
and help her out — she may have parcels.” 

Presently they came in together, laughing. Isa- 
bel’s face was flushed and Allison was heavily laden 
with packages, both small and large. “I feel like 
Santa Claus,” he cried, gaily, to Madame, as she 
passed them on the way out. 

She smiled, but did not take the trouble to speak, 
44 Colonel Kent’s,” she called to the driver, as she 
closed the carriage door with a resounding bang, 
44 and please hurry.” 

The Colonel was on the veranda when she arrived, 
superintending the gardening operations from there. 
He greeted her with surprise, for it was not her way 
to drive over there alone. 44 1 am deeply honoured,” 
he said, as he assisted her up the steps. 44 May I order 
tea?” 

44 No, thank you,” she answered, somewhat primly. 
It was evident that she was ill at ease. 44 1 understood 
from Allison that you were doing all this yourself. 


©ID IRose anb Silver 


136 

Instead, I find you sitting on the veranda like a 
landed proprietor, in command of an army of slaves. ” 

“Two Irishmen don’t make an army,” he laughed, 
“though I’ll admit that, if angry, they would make a 
formidable force. I helped to dig for a while this 
morning, but it didn’t seem to agree with me, so I 
quit. My work seems to be done,” he continued, 
with a sigh. 

“No, it isn’t,” she returned, sharply. “There’s 
work to be done, but whether you or I or both 
together can do it, is extremely doubtful. ” 

“What do you mean, Francesca?” 

Madame leaned toward him confidentially. “Rich- 
ard,” .she said, in a low tone, “has it ever occurred to 
you that Allison might marry?” 

A shadow crossed his face, then vanished in a 
smile. “Yes. Why?” 

“ Have you ever seen a woman you would be willing 
for him to marry?” 

“Only one.” 

“And she ?” 

“Rose,” said the Colonel, softly. “Your Rose.” 

“I’ve felt that way, too,” whispered Madame. 
There was silence for the space of a heart-beat, then 
she cried out sharply : “ But it isn’t Rose — it’s Isabel ! ” 

“What?” he cried, startled for once out of his usual 
calm. 4 ‘ That child ? ’ ’ 

“ 4 That child’ is past twenty, and he is only ten 
years older. There was fifteen years’ difference be- 
tween you and — ” Madame forebore to speak the 
name of the dead and beloved wife. 

Colonel Kent turned his dim blue eyes toward the 
hills. Behind them the sun was setting, and he could 
guess that the gold of the Spring afternoon was 


Un JEncbantefc foour 


137 


scattered like star dust over the little sunken grave. 
He left Madame and went to the end of the veranda, 
where he stood for a few moments, facing the West. 
Then he came back. 

“Francesca, ” he said, slowly, “you and I are on the 
Western slope and have been for a long time. The 
Valley of the Shadow lies at the foot of the hill and 
the descent is almost made. But the boy is young, 
and most of the journey lies before him. You chose 
for yourself, and so did I. Shall we not grant him 
the same right? ” 

“Yes, but Rose ” 

“Rose,” interrupted the Colonel, “is too good for 
any man — even my owm son, though, as I said before, 
she is the only woman I would willingly see him marry. 
You stand almost in his mother’s place to him. but 
neither you nor I can shield him now. We must try to 
remember that his life is his — to make or mar. ” 

“I know, ” she sighed, “I’ve thought it all out.” 

“ Besides, ” he went on, “what could we do? Separa- 
tion wouldn’t last long, if he wants her, and talking 
would only alienate him from us. Perhaps you could 
bear it, but I — I couldn’t.” 

“Nor I,” she returned, quickly. “When we come 
to the sundown road, we need all the love we have 
managed to take with us from the summit of the hill. 
I hadn’t meant to say anything to anyone, ” she went 
on, in a changed tone, “but my heart was full, and you 


“Your best friend, Francesca, as you are mine. It 
seems to take a lifetime for us to learn that wisdom 
consists largely in a graceful acceptance of things that 
do not immediately concern us. ” 

“ How like you, ” she responded, with a toudi of her 


I3» 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


old manner. “I ask for comfort and you give me an 
epigram. ” 

“Many people find satisfaction in epigrams, ” he 
reminded her. “ Sometimes a snap-shot is better 
than an oil painting.” 

“Or a geometrical design, or even a map,” she 
continued, catching his mood. The talk drifted to 
happier themes and Madame was quite herself again 
at dusk, when she rose to go. 

On the way back, she passed Allison, returning 
home to dinner by a well-worn path, but he was think- 
ing of something else and did not see her at all. 

The lilac-scented midnight was starred here and 
there with white blooms when May went out and June 
came in. Drifts of “bridal wreath” were banked 
against the side of the house and a sweet syringa 
breathed out a faint perfume toward the hedge of 
lilacs beyond. Blown petals of pink and white died 
on the young grass beneath Madame’ s wild crab-apple 
tree, transplanted from a distant woodland long ago 
to glorify her garden. 

The hour was one of enchantment, yet to Rose, 
leaning out into the moonless night, the beauty of it 
brought only pain. She wondered, dully, if she should 
ever find surcease; if somewhere, on the thorny path 
ahead, there might not be some place where she could 
lay the burden of her heartache down. Her pride, 
that had so long sustained her, was beginning to fail 
her now. It no longer seemed more vital than life 
itself that Allison should not know. 

She had the hurt woman’s longing for escape, but 
could think of no excuse for flight. She knew Aunt 
Francesca would manage it, in some way, should she 


Bn JEncbantefc Ibour 


139 


ask, and that she would be annoyed by no troublesome 
questions, yet loyalty held her fast, for she knew how 
lonely the little old lady would be without her. 

Day by day, the tension increased almost to the 
breaking point. June filled the garden with rosebuds, 
but their pale namesake in the big white house took 
no heed of them. She no longer concerned herself 
about her gowns, but wore white almost constantly, 
that her pallor might not show. 

The roses broke from their green sheaths, then 
bloomed, opening their golden hearts to every wander- 
ing bee. The house was full of roses. Aunt Francesca 
wore them even on her morning gowns and Isabel 
made wreaths of red roses to twine in her dark hair. 
Every breeze brought fragrance to the open windows 
and scattered it through the house. 

Madame’s heart ached for Rose, but still she said 
no word, though it seemed to her that the blindness of 
the others could not last much longer. She could not 
take Rose away unless she took Isabel also, and, 
should she do that, things would soon be just as they 
were now. 

As Rose faded, Isabel blossomed into the full flower 
of her youth. Her high, bird-like laugh echoed con- 
stantly through the house and garden, whether anyone 
was with her or not. With sinking heart, Rose envied 
her even a tithe of her abundant joy. 

As the moon approached its full, the roses had 
begun to drop their petals. Under every bush was a 
scattered bit of fragrance that meant both death and 
resurrection. Far down in the garden, where the 
sunken lily-pool mirrored the stars, the petals of 
golden roses drifted idly across the shining surface. 

Rose had worn white at dinner, as she always did, 


140 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


now, the night the June moon came to its full. Isabel, 
too, was in white, but with a difference, for as surely 
as the older woman’s white was mourning, her silver 
spangles were donned for joy. At the table, Madame 
had done most of the talking, for Isabel’s conversa- 
tional gifts were limited, at best, and Rose was weary 
beyond all words. 

After dinner she went to the piano and struck a few 
aimless chords. Isabel, with a murmured excuse, 
went up to her own room. “ Nothing that is not true, ” 
said Rose to herself, steadily; “nothing that is not 
true.” 



Presently a definite thought took shape in her mind. 
To-morrow she would tell Aunt Francesca, and see if 
it could not be arranged for her to go away somewhere, 
anywhere, alone. Or, if not to-morrow, at least the 


Bn 3£ncbantefc *fcour 


141 

day after, as soon as she had seen him again. She 
wanted one last look to take with her into the prison- 
house, where she must wrestle with her soul alone. 

Her stiff fingers shaped the melody that Aunt 
Francesca loved, and into it went all her own longing, 
her love, and her pain. The notes thrilled with an 
ecstasy of renunciation, and the vibrant chords 
trembled far out into the night. 




Jt- 4 L • JL. 








-jgaJ- 


jL 



A man entered the gate very quietly, paused, then 
turned into the garden, to soothe his wildly beating 
heart for a few moments with the balm of scent and 
sound. Upstairs, behind the shelter of the swaying 
curtain, a shining figure drew back into the shadow. 
Smiling, and with an agreeable sense of adventure, 
Isabel tiptoed down the back stairs, and entered the 
garden, unheard, by a side door. 


142 j 


©It) IRose ant) Silver 


With assumed carelessness, yet furtively watching 
she made the circuit of the lily-pool, humming to 
herself. A quick leap and a light ?foot on the grass 
startled her for an instant, then she laughed, for it was 
only Mr. Boffin, playing with his own dancing shadow. 



The sound of the piano had become very faint, 
though the windows were open and the wind was in 
the right direction. Isabel stopped at another bush, 
picked a few full-blown white roses, and sat down on 
a garden bench to remove the thorns. 

“I wonder where he can be,” she said to herself. 
“ Surely he can't have gone home again.” She 
listened, but there was no sound save the distant 
piano, and the abrupt, playful purr of Mr. Boffin, as 
he pounced upon a fallen white rose. 

Isabel put the flowers in her hair, consciously 
missing the mirror in which she was wont to observe 


Hn EncbanteD ibour 


143 


the effect. “He must have gone in while I was com- 
ing down,” she thought, “but I don’t see why he 
shouldn’t have gone straight in when he first came. ” 
She decided to wait until he came to look for her, 
then as swiftly changed her mind. Rose was still 
playing. 



Isabel hummed the melody to herself, not noting 
that she was off the key, and started slowly toward 
the house, by another path. 

Allison was standing in the shadow of a maple, 
listening to the music and drawing in deep breaths of 
the rose-scented air. The moon flooded the garden 
with enchantment, and a shaft of silver light, striking 
the sun-dial, made a shadow that was hours wrong. 
He smiled as he saw it, amiably crediting the moon 
with an accidental error, rather than a purposeful lie. 


144 


®lt> IRose ant> Silver 



Deeper and more vibrant, the woman within sent 
the cry of her heart into the night, where the only one 
who could answer it stood watching the shadow of the 
moon on the sun-dial and the spangled cobwebs on the 


Bn Encbanteb toour 


145 


grass. He picked a rose, put it into his button-hole, 
and turned toward the house. 

A hushed sound, as of rustling silk, made him 
pause, then, at the head of the path, where another 
joined it, Isabel appeared, with white roses in her 
hair and the moon shining full upon her face. The 
spangles on her gown caught the light and broke it 
into a thousand tiny rainbows, surrounding her with 
faint iridescence. 

The old, immortal hunger surged into his veins, 
the world-old joy made his senses reel. He steadied 
himself for a moment, then went to her, with his 
arms outstretched in pleading. 

“Oh, Silver Girl,” he whispered, huskily. “My 
Silver Girl! Tell me you’ll shine for me always!” 



The last chord ceased, full of yearning that was 
almost prayer. Then Isabel, cold as marble and 
passionless as snow, lifted her face for his betrothal 
kiss. 


XIII 


TKIlbite ©loves 

With shyness that did not wholly conceal her youthful 
pride, Isabel told Madame, a few days later. The 
little old lady managed to smile and to kiss Isabel’s 
soft cheek, murmuring the conventional hope for her 
happiness. Inwardly, she was far from calm, though 
deeply thankful that Rose did not happen to be in the 
room. 

“You must make him very happy, dear,” she said. 

“I guess we’ll have a good time,” returned Isabel, 
smothering a yawn. “It will be lots of fun to go all 
over the country and see all the big cities.” 

“I hope he will be successful,” Madame continued. 
“He must be,” she added, fervently. 

“I suppose we shall be entertained a great deal,” 
remarked Isabel. “He has written to Mamma, but 
she hasn’t had time to answer yet. ” 

L “I can vouch for my foster son,” Madame replied. 

“It isn’t necessary,” the girl went on, “and I told 
him so. Mamma never cares what I do, and she’ll be 
glad to get me off her hands. Would you mind if I 
were married here?” 

Madame’s heart throbbed with tender pity. “In- 
deed,” she answered, warmly, “you shall have the 
prettiest wedding I can give you. Your mother will 
come, won’t she?” 


146 


Mblte Gloves 


147 


“Not if it would interfere with her lecture engage- 
ments. She’s going to lecture all next season on * The 
Slavery of Marriage. ’ She says the wedding-ring is a 
sign of bondage, dating back to the old days when a 
woman was her husband’s property.” 

Madame Francesca’s blue eyes filled with a sudden 
mist. Slowly she turned on her finger the worn band 
of gold that her gallant Captain had placed there ere 
he went to war. It carried still a deep remembrance 
too holy for speech. “Property,” repeated the old 
lady, in a whisper. “Ah, but how dear it is to be 
owned!” 

“I don’t mind wearing it,” said Isabel, with a 
patronising air, “but I want it as narrow as possible, 
so it won’t interfere with my other rings, and, of 
course, I can take it off when I like. ” 

“Of course, but I would be glad to have you so 
happily married, my dear, that you wouldn’t want 
to take it off — ever.” 

“I’ll have to ask Mamma to send me some money 
for clothes,” the girl went on, half to herself. 

“Don’t bother her with it,” suggested the other, 
kindly. “ Let me do it. Rose and I will enjoy making 
pretty things for a bride. ” 

“I’m afraid Cousin Rose wouldn’t enjoy it,” 
Isabel replied, with an unpleasant laugh. “Do you 
know,” she added, confidentially, “I’ve always 
thought Cousin Rose liked Allison — well, a good 
deal.” 

“She does,” returned Madame, meeting the girl’s 
eyes clearly, “and so do I. When you’re older, 
Isabel, you’ll learn to distinguish between a mere 
friendly interest and the grand passion.” 

“She’s too old, I know,” Isabel continued, with the 


148 


©16 IRose an& Stiver 


brutality of confident youth, “but sometimes older 
women do fall in love with young men. ” 

“Why shouldn’t they?” queried Madame, lightly, 
“ as long as older men choose to fall in love with young 
women? As far as that goes, it would be no worse for 
Allison to marry Rose than it is for him to marry 
you.” 

“But,” objected Isabel, “when he is sixty, she will 
be seventy, and he wouldn’t care for her.” 

“And,” returned Madame, rather sharply, “when 
he is forty, you will be only thirty ' md you may not 
care for him. There are always two sides to every- 
thing, ” she added, after a pause, “ and when we get so 
civilised that all women may be self-supporting if they 
choose, we may see a little advice to husbands on the 
way of keeping a wife’s love, instead of the flood of 
nonsense that disfigures the periodicals now. ” 

“They all say that woman makes the home,” 
Isabel suggested, idly. 

“But not alone. No woman can make a home 
alone. It takes two pairs of hands to make a home — - 
one strong and the other tender, and two true hearts. ” 

“ I hope it won’t take too long to make my clothes, ” 
answered Isabel, irrelevantly. “He says I must be 
ready by September.” 

“Then we must begin immediately. Write out 
everything you think of, and afterward we’ll go over 
the list together. Come into the library and begin 
now. There’s no time like the present.” 

“Do you think,” Isabel inquired as she seated 
herself at the library table, “that I will have many 
presents?” 

“ Probably,” answered Madame, briefly. “ I’ll come 
back when you’ve finished your list.” 


WMte (Moves 


149 


She went up-stairs and knocked gently at the 
door of Rose’s room, feeling very much as she did 
the day she went to Colonel Kent to tell him that the 
little mother of his new-born son was dead. Rose 
herself opened the door, somewhat surprised. 

Madame went in, closed the door, then stood there 
for a moment, at a loss for words. 

“Has it come?” asked Rose, in a low voice. 

44 Yes. Oh, Rose, my dear Rose!” 

She put her arm around the younger woman and 
led her to the couch. Every hint of colour faded from 
Rose’s face; her eyes were wide and staring, her lips 
scarcely pink. “I must go away,” she murmured. 

4 4 Where , dearest ? ’ ’ 

4 1 Anywhere — oh, anywhere ! * ' 

“I know, dear, believe me, I know, but it never 
does any good to run away from things that must be 
faced sooner or later. We women have our battles 
to fight as well as the men who go to war, and the 
same truth applies to both — that only a coward will 
retreat under fire.” 

Rose sighed and clenched her hands together 
tightly. 

“Once there was a ship,” said Madame, softly, 
“sinking in mid-ocean, surrounded by fog. It had 
drifted far out of its course, and collided with a dere- 
lict. The captain ordered the band to play, the officers 
put on their dress uniforms and their white gloves. 
Another ship, that was drifting, too, signalled in 
answer to the music, and all were saved. ” 

“ That was possible — but there can be no signal for 

>» 

me. 

41 Perhaps not, but let’s put on our white gloves and 
order out the band. ” 


©It) IRose ant) Stiver 


150 

The unconscious' ' plural struck Rose with deep 
significance. “Did you — know, Aunt Francesca?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“For how long?” 

“Always, I think.” 

“Did it seem — absurd, in any way?” 

“Not at all. I was hoping for it, until the wind 
changed. And,” she added, with her face turned 
away, “Colonel Kent was, too.” 

Some of the colour ebbed slowly back into the white 
stricken face. “ That makes me feel, ” Rose breathed, 
“as if I hadn’t been quite so foolish as I’ve been 
thinking I was.” 

“Then keep the high heart, dear, for they mustn’t 
suspect.” 

“No,” cried Rose sharply, “oh, no! Anything but 
that!” 

“ It’s hard to wear gloves when you don’t want to, ” 
replied Madame, with seeming irrelevance, “but it’s 
easier when there are others. The Colonel will need 
them, too — this is going to be hard on him.” 

“Does — he — knew?” whispered Rose, fearfully. 

“No,” answered Madame, laughing outright, “in- 
deed he doesn’t. Did you ever know of a man 
discovering anything that wasn’t right under his 
nose?” 

“And I am safe with — with ” 

“With everybody but Isabel. She may be foolish, 
but she’s a woman, and even a woman can see around 
a comer.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” said Rose, after a 
little; “for giving me time. It was like you.” 

“I’m glad I could, but remember, I haven’t told 
you, officially. Let her tell you herself. ” 


Mblte Gloves 


151 

Rose nodded. “ Then I’ll come down just as soon as 
I can.” 

“With white gloves on, dear, and flags flying. 
Make your old aunt proud of you now, won’t you?” 

“I’ll try,” she answered, humbly, then quickly 
closed the door. 

Meanwhile Colonel Kent, most correctly attired, was 
making a formal call upon his prospective daughter- 
in-law, and the list had scarcely been begun. Isabel 
sat in the living room, trying not to show that she was 
bored. The Colonel had come in, ready to receive her 
into his house and his heart, but Isabel had shaken 
hands with him coolly, and accepted shrinkingly 
the fatherly kiss he stooped to bestow upon her 
forehead. 

He had tried several preliminary topics of conversa- 
tion, which had been met with chilling monosyllables, 
so he plunged into the heart of the subject, with 
inward trepidation. 

“I told Allison this morning that I owed him my 
thanks for bringing me a daughter.” 

“Yes,” said Isabel, placidly. 

“The old house needs young voices and the sound 
of young feet, ” the Colonel went on. 

Isabel began to speak, then hesitated and relapsed 
into silence. Mr. Boffin came in, purring loudly, and 
rubbed familiarly against the Colonel, leaving a thin 
coating of yellow hair. 

“It seems to be the moulting season for cats,” 
laughed the Colonel, observing the damage ruefully, 

Isabel moved restlessly in her chair, but said 
nothing. The pause had become awkward when 
the Colonel rose to take his leave. 


152 


®I6 1 Rose a nfc Silver 


“I hope you may be happy,” he said, gravely, 
44 and make our old house happier for your coming.” 

“Oh,” returned Isabel, quickly, “I hadn’t thought 
of that. I hadn’t thought of — of living there. ” 

“The house is large,” he ventured, puzzled. 

44 Mamma has always said,” remarked Isabel, 
primly, 4 4 that no house was large enough for two 
families.” 

Colonel Kent managed to force a laugh. “You may 
be right, ” he answered. “At least, everything shall 
be arranged to your liking.” 

He had said good-bye and was on his way out, 
when Francesca came down from Rose’s room. Seeing 
her, he waited for a moment. Isabel had gone into the 
library and closed the door. 

44 Whence this haste?” queried Madame, with a 
lightness which was just then difficult to assume. 
44 Were you going without seeing me?” 

“I had feared I would be obliged to,” he returned, 
gallantly. “I was calling upon my future daughter- 
in-law,” he added, in a low tone, as they went out 
on the veranda. 

Madame sighed and sank gratefully into the chair 
he offered her. In the broad light of day, she looked 
old and worn. 

“Well,” continued the Colonel, with an effort to 
speak cheerfully, “the blow has fallen.” 

“So I hear,” she rejoined, almost in a whisper. 
44 What tremendous readjustments the heedless young 
may cause!” 

44 Yes, but we mustn’t deny them the right. The 
eternal sacrifice of youth to age is one of the most 
pitiful things in nature — human nature, that is. The 
animals know better. ” 


TObtte <Blov>es 


153 


“ Would you remove all opportunity for the de- 
velopment of character ?” she inquired, with a tinge 
of sarcasm. 

“No, but I wouldn’t deliberately furnish it. The 
world supplies it generously enough, I think. Allison 
didn’t ask to be born,” he went on, with a change of 
tone, “and those who brought him into the world are 
infinitely more responsible to him than he is to 
them.” 

“One-sided.” returned Madame, abruptly. “And, 
if so, it’s the only thing that is. What of the gift of 
life?” 

“Nothing to speak of,” he responded with a 
cynicism wholly new to her. “I wouldn’t go back 
and live it over, would you?” 

“No,” she sighed, “I wouldn’t. I don’t believe 
anyone would, even the happiest.” 

“Too much character development?” 

“Yes,” she admitted, with a shamefaced flush. 
“You’ll have a chance to see, now. It will be right 
under your nose.” 

“No,” he said, with a certain sad emphasis which 
did not escape her; “it won’t. I shall be at a respect- 
ful distance.” 

“Why, Richard!” she cried, half rising from her 
chair; “what do you mean? Aren’t you going to live 
with them in the old home?” 

The Colonel shook his head. 

“Why?” she demanded. 

The Colonel raised his hand to his forehead in a 
mock salute. “Orders,” he said, briefly. “From 
headquarters. ” 

“Has Allison — ” she began, in astonishment, but 
he interrupted her. 


154 


©lb IRose anfc Silver 


“No.” He inclined his head suggestively toward 
the house, and she understood. 

“The little brute,” murmured Francesca. “ Richard, 
believe me, I am ashamed.” 

“Don’t bother,” he answered, kindly. “The boy 
mustn’t know. You always plan everything for me — 
where shall I live now?” 

She leaned forward, her blue eyes shining. “Oh, 
Richard,” she breathed, “if you only would — if you 
could — come to Rose and me! We’d be so glad!” 

There was no mistaking her sincerity, and the 
Colonel’s fine old face illumined with pleasure. 
Merely to be wanted, anywhere, brings a certain 
satisfaction. 

“I’ll come,” he returned, promptly. “How good 
you are! How good you’ve always been! I often 
wonder what I should ever have done without 
you.” 

He turned away and, lightly as a passing cloud, a 
shadow crossed his face. Madame saw how hard it 
would be to part from his son, and, only in lesser 
degree, his old home. 

“Richard,” she said, “a ship was sinking once in a 
fog, miles out of its course. The captain ordered the 
band to play and all the officers put on their dress 
uniforms. Another ship, also drifting, signalled in 
answer to the music and all were saved. ” 

The Colonel rose and offered his hand in farewell. 
“Thank you, Francesca, ” he answered, deeply moved. 
“I put on my white gloves the day you came to tell 

me. I thank you now for the signal — and for saving 
” 

me. 

She watched him as he went down the road, tall, 
erect, and soldierly, in spite of his three-score and ten. 


TRUbtte Gloves 


155 


“Three of us,” she said to herself, “all in white 
gloves.” The metaphor appealed to her strongly. 

She did not go in until Isabel appeared in the door- 
way, list in hand, and prettily perplexed over the 
problem of clothes. Madame slipped it into the 
chatelaine bag that hung from her belt. “We’ll go 
over it with Rose,” she said. “She knows more 
about clothes than I do.” 

“Have you told Cousin Rose?” 

“No, ” answered Madame, avoiding the girl’s eyes. 
“It’s your place to tell her — not mine.” 

When Rose came down to dinner that night, she 
was gorgeously attired in her gown of old-gold satin, 
adorned with gold lace. The last yellow roses of the 
garden were twined in her dark hair, and the rouge- 
stick, that faithful friend of unhappy woman, had 
given a little needed colour to her cheeks and lips, for 
the first time in her life. 

“Cousin Rose,” began Isabel, a little abashed by 
the older woman’s magnificence, “I’m engaged — to 
Allison. ” 

“Really?” cried Rose, with well-assumed astonish- 
ment. “Come here and let me kiss the bride-to-be. 
You must make him very happy,” she said, then 
added, softly: “I pray that you may.” 

“Everybody seems to think of him and not of me, ” 
Isabel returned, a little fretfully. “ That’s what Aunt 
Francesca said, and Allison’s father seemed to think 
more about my making Allison happy than he did 
about my being happy myself. ” 

“That’s because the only way to win happiness is 
to give it, ” put in Madame. “ The more we give, the 
more we have. ” 

Conversation lagged at dinner, and became, as 


mo TRose a no sm>er 


156 

often, a monologue by Madame. While they were 
finishing their coffee, they heard Allison’s well-known 
step outside. 

“ I wonder why he had to come so early,” com- 
plained Isabel. “I wanted to change my dress. I 
didn’t have time before dinner. ” 

“ He’ll never know it,” Madame assured her. 
“We’ll excuse you dear, if you’re through. Don’t 
keep him waiting. ” 

When the dining-room door closed, Rose turned to 
Madame. “Did I — 

“ Most wonderfully. ” 

“But the hardest part is still to come, ” she breathed 
sadly. 

“ 4 1 was ever a fighter, so one fight more, 

The best and the last, * ” 

Madame quoted, encouragingly. 

Rose smiled — a little wan smile — as she pushed 
back her chair. “ Perhaps, ” she said, “the * peace out 
of pain’ may follow me.” 

She went, with faltering step, toward the other 
room, inwardly afraid. Another hand met hers, with 
a reassuring clasp. “One step more, Rose. Now 
then, forward, march, all flags unfurled. ” 

When she went in, Allison came to meet her with 
outstretched hands. He had changed subtly, since 
she saw him last. Had light been poured over him, it 
would have changed him in much the same way. 

“Golden Rose,” he said, taking both her hands in 
his, “ tell me you are glad — say that you wish me joy. ” 

Her eyes met his clearly. “I do,” she smiled. 
“There is no one in the world for whom I wish joy 
more than I do for you. ” 


Mbite Gloves 


157 


“And I say the same,” chimed in Madame, who 
had closely followed Rose. 

“Dear little foster mother,” said Allison, tenderly, 
putting a strong arm around her. He had not yet 
released Rose’s hand, nor did he note that it was 
growing cold. “I owe you everything,” he went on; 
“even Isabel.” * 

He kissed her, then, laughing, turned to Rose. 
“May I?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer 
he turned her face to his, and kissed her on the lips. 

Cold as ice and shaken to the depths of her soul, 
Rose stumbled out of the room, murmuring brokenly 
of a forgotten letter which must be immediately 
written. Madame lingered for the space of half an 
hour, talking brightly of everything under the sun, 
then followed Rose, turning in the doorway as she 
went out, to say: “Can’t you even thank me for 
leaving you alone?” 

“Bless her,” said Allison, fondly. “What sweet 
women they are ! ” 

“Yes,” answered Isabel, spitefully, “especially 
Rose.” 

He laughed heartily. “What a little goose you are, 
sweetheart. Kiss me, dear — dearest.” 

“I won’t, ” she flashed back, stubbornly, nor would 
she, until at last, by superior strength, he took his 
lover’s privilege from lips that refused to yield. 

That night he dreamed that, for a single exquisite 
instant, Isabel had answered him, giving him love for 
love. Then, strangely enough, Isabel became Rose, 
in a gown of gold, with golden roses twined in her hair. 


XIV 


Cbe tTbfrtfetb of $une 

Dinner that night had been rather a silent affair 
at Kent’s, as well as at Madame Bernard’s. Being 
absorbed in his own thoughts, Allison did not realise 
how unsociable he was, nor that the old man across 
the table from him perceived that they had reached 
the beginning of the end. 

When Allison spoke, it was always of Isabel. 
Idealised in her lover’s sight, she stood before him 
as the one “perfect woman, nobly planned,” pre- 
destined, through countless ages, to be his mate. 
Colonel Kent merely agreed with him in monosyllables 
until Allison became conscious that his father did not 
wholly share his enthusiasm. 

“I wish yon knew her, Dad,” he said, regretfully. 
“You’ll love her when you do.” 

“I’m willing to,” answered the Colonel, shortly. 
“I called on her this afternoon,” he added, after a 
brief pause. 

Allison’s face illumined. “Was she there? Did 
you see her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Isn’t she the loveliest thing that was ever made?” 
“I’m not prepared to go as far as that, ” smiled the 
Colonel, “but she is certainly a very pretty girl.” 

158 


Ube Tlbtrtietb of 3une 


159 

“She’s beautiful," returned Allison, with deep 
conviction. 

The Colonel forebore to remind him that love 
brings beauty with it, or that the beauty which 
endures comes from the soul within. 

“Just think, Dad," Allison was saying, “how 
lovely she’ll be at that end of the table, with me across 
from her and you at her right.” 

The Colonel shook his head, then cleared his throat. 
“Not always, lad," he said, kindly, “but perhaps, 
sometimes — as a guest." 

Allison’s fork dropped with a sharp clatter on his 
plate. “ Dad ! What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“No house is large enough for two families," re- 
peated the Colonel, with an unconscious, parrot-like 
accent. 

“Why, Dad ! We’ve always stood together — surely 
you won’t desert me now?" 

The old man’s eyes softened with mist. He could 
not trust himself to meet the clear, questioning gaze 
of his son. 

“I can’t understand," Allison went on, doubtfully. 
“Is it possible — could she — did — Isabel ?’’ 

“No," said the Colonel, firmly, still avoiding the 
questioning eyes. ‘ ‘ She didn’t ! ’ ’ 

“ Of course she didn’t, ’’ returned Allison, fully satis- 
fied. “She couldn’t — she’s not that kind. What a 
brute I was even to think it! But why, Dad? Please 
tell me why!" 

“Francesca asked me this afternoon if I would 
come to her and Rose, after the — afterwards, you 
know, and I promised. " 

“If you promised, I suppose that settles it," re- 
marked Allison, gloomily, “but I wish you hadn’t. I 


i6o 


Gib iRose anb Silver 


can understand that they would want you, too, for 
of course they’ll be desperately lonely after Isabel 
goes away.” 

A certain peace crept into the old man’s sore heart. 
Surely there was something to live for still. 

“I hope you didn’t tell Aunt Francesca you’d stay 
there always,” Allison was saying, anxiously. 

“No,” answered the Colonel, with a smile; “there 
was no limit specified. ” 

“Then we’ll consider it only a visit and a short one 
at that — just until they get a little used to Isabel’s 
being away. This is your rightful place, Dad, and 
Isabel and I both want you — don’t ever forget that!” 

When Allison had gone in search of his beloved, the 
Colonel sat on the veranda alone, accustomed, now, 
to evenings spent thus. His garden promised well, he 
thought, having produced two or three sickly roses 
in the very first season. The shrubs and trees that 
had survived ten years of neglect had been pruned 
and tied and would doubtless do well next year, if 
Isabel 

“I hope he’ll never find out,” the Colonel said to 
himself. Then he remembered that, for the first 
time in his life, he had lied to his son, and took occa- 
sion to observe the highly spectacular effect of an 
untruth from an habitually truthful person. 

“He never doubted me, not for an instant,” mused 
the Colonel, “but it’s just as well that I’m going. 
She could probably manage it, if we lived in the same 
house, so that I’d have to tell at least one lie a day, 
and I’m not an expert. Perfection might come with 
practice — I’ve known it to — but I’m too old to 
begin.” 

He was deeply grateful to Francesca for her solution 


TObe TTMrtietb of 3une 


161 


of the problem that confronted him. It had appeared 
and been duly solved in the space of half an hour. 
She had been his good angel for more than thirty 
years. It might be very pleasant to live there, after 
he became accustomed to the change, and with 
Allison so near — why, he couldn’t be half as lonely as 
he was now. So his thoughts drifted into a happier 
channel and he was actually humming an old song to 
himself when he heard Allison’s step, almost at mid- 
night, on the road just beyond the gate. 

He went in quietly, closed the door, and was in his 
own room when Allison’s latch-key rattled in the 
lock. The Colonel took pains not to be heard moving 
about, but it was unnecessary, for Allison’s heart was 
beating in time with its own music, and surging with 
the nameless rapture that comes but once. 

Down in the moon-lit, dream-haunted garden, Alli- 
son waited for Isabel, as the First Man might have 
waited for the First Woman, in another garden, 
countless ages ago. Stars were mirrored in the lily- 
pool; the waning moon swung low. The roses had 
gone, except a few of the late-blooming sort, but the 
memory of their fragrance lingered still in the velvet 
dusk. 

No music came from the quiet house, for Rose had 
not touched the piano since That Night. It stood out 
in his remembrance in capitals, as it did in hers, for 
widely different reasons. Only Isabel, cherishing no 
foolish sentiment as to dates and places, could have 
forgotten That Night. 

With a lover’s fond fancy, Allison had written a 
note to Isabel, asking her to meet him in the garden 
by the lily-pool, at nine, and to wear the silver- 


ir 


162 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


spangled gown. It was already past the hour and he 
had begun to be impatient, though he was sure she 
had received the note. 

A cobweb in the grass at his feet shone faintly afar 
- — like Isabel’s spangles, he thought. A soft-winged 
wayfarer of the night brushed lightly against his 
cheek in passing, and he laughed aloud, to think that 
a grey moth should bring the memory of a kiss. Then, 
with a swift sinking of the heart, he remembered 
Isabel’s unvarying coldness. Never for an instant had 
she answered him as Rose 

“ Nonsense,” he muttered to himself, angrily. 
“What an unspeakable cad I am!” 

There wa^ a light step on the path and Isabel 
appeared out of the shadows. She was holding up her 
skirts and seemed annoyed. In the first glance Allison 
noted that she was not wearing the spangled gown. 

She submitted to his eager embrace and endured 
his kiss; even the blindest lover could not have said 
more. Yet her coldness only thrilled him to the 
depths with love of her, as has been the way of men 
since the world began. 

“I don’t understand this foolishness,” she said, 
fretfully, as she released herself from his encircling 
arm. “ It’s damp and chilly out here, and I’ll get wet 
and take cold.” 

“It isn’t damp, darling, and you can’t take cold. 
W r hy didn’t you wear the spangles?” 

“Do you suppose I want to spoil my best gown 
dragging it through the wet grass?” 

“The grass isn’t wet, and, anyhow, you haven’t 
been on it — only on the path. Come over here to the 
bench and sit down. ” 

“ I don’t want to. I want to go in. ” 


Ube Ubirtietb of June 


163 


“All right, but not just yet. I’ll carry you, if 
you’re afraid of dampness. ” Before she could protest, 
he had picked her up and laughingly seated her on the 
bench at the edge of the lily-pool. 

Isabel smoothed her rumpled hair. “You’ve mussed 
me all up,’’ she complained. “Why can’t we go in? 
Aunt Francesca and Rose are upstairs.’* 

“Listen, sweetheart. Please be patient with me 
just a minute, won’t you? I’ve brought you your 
engagement ring.” 

“Oh,” cried Isabel, delightedly. “Let me see 
it!” 

“I want to tell you about it first. You remember, 
don’t you, that the first night I came here, you were 
wearing a big silver pin — a turquoise matrix, set in 
dull silver?” 

“I’ve forgotten.” 

“Well, I haven’t. Someway, it seemed to suit you 
as jewels seldom suit anybody, and you had it on the 
other night when you promised to marry me. Both 
times you were wearing the spangled gown, and that’s 
why I asked for it to-night, and why I’ve had your 
engagement ring made of a turquoise.” 

Isabel murmured inarticulately, but he went on, 
heedlessly: “It’s made of silver because you’re my 
Silver Girl, the design is all roses because it was in the 
time of roses, and it’s a turquoise for reasons I’ve told 
you. Our initials and the date are inside. ” 

Allison slipped it on her finger and struck a match 
that she might see it plainly. Isabel turned it on her 
finger listlessly. 

“Very pretty, ” she said, in a small, thin voice, after 
an awkward pause. 

“Why, dearest,” he cried, “don’t you like it?” 


164 


Qlb ffiose mb Silver 


“ It’s well enough,” she answered, slowly, “but not 
for an engagement ring. Everybody else has diamonds. 
I thought you cared enough for me to give me a 
diamond,” she said, reproachfully. 

“I do,” he assured her, “and you shall have 
diamonds — as many as I can give you. Why, sweet, 
this is only the beginning. There’s a long life ahead 
of us, isn’t there? Do you think I’m never going to 
give my wife any jewels?” 

“Aunt Francesca and Rose put you .up to this,” 
said Isabel, bitterly. “They never want me to have 
anything.” 

“They know nothing whatever about it, ” he replied, 
rather coldly, taking it from her finger as he spoke. 
“Listen, Isabel. Would you rather have a diamond 
in your engagement ring?” 

“ Of course. I’d be ashamed to have anybody know 
that this was my engagement ring. ” 

“All right,” said Allison, with defiant cheerfulness. 
“You shall have just exactly what you want, and, to 
make sure, I’ll take you with me when I go to get it. 
I’m sorry I made such a mistake.” 

There was a flash of blue and silver in the faint 
light, and a soft splash in the lily-pool. “There,” he 
went on, “it’s out of your way now.” 

“You didn’t need to throw it away,” she said, 
icily. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it, nor that I 
wouldn’t wear it. I only said I wanted a diamond.” 

“ It could be found, I suppose, ” he replied, thought- 
fully, ashamed of his momentary impulse. “If the 
pool were drained ” 

“That would cost more than the ring is w r orth, ” 
Isabel interrupted. “ Come, let’s go in. ” 

He was about to explain that a very good-sized 


TLbc TTbirtietb of June 


163 


pool could be drained for the price of the ring, but 
fortunately thought better of it, and was bitterly glad, 
now, that he had thrown it away. 

In the house they talked of other things, but the 
thrust still lingered in his consciousness, unforgotten. 

14 How’s your father?’* inquired Isabel, in a con- 
versational pause, as she could think of nothing else 
to say. 

“All right, I guess. Why?” 

“I haven’t seen him lately. He hasn’t been over 
since the day he called on me. ” 

“Guess I haven’t thought to ask him to come 
along. Dad is possessed just at present by a very 
foolish idea. They’ve told you, haven’t they?” 

“ No. Told me what? ” 

“Why, that after we’re married, he’s to come over 
here to live with Aunt Francesca and Rose, and give 
us the house to ourselves. ” 

“I hadn’t heard, ” she replied, indifferently. 

“ I don’t know when I’ve felt so badly about any- 
thing, ” Allison resumed. “We’ve always been to- 
gether and we’ve been more like two chums than 
father and son. It’s like taking my best friend away 
from me, but I know he’ll come back to us, if you ask 
him to. ” 

“Probably,” she assented, coldly. “I suppose 
we’ll be in town for the Winters, won’t we, and only 
live here in the Summer?” 

“I don’t know, dear; we’ll see. I’ve got to go to 
see my manager very soon, and Dad asked me to find 
out what you wanted for a wedding present. I’m 
to help him select it.” 

“Can I have anything I choose?” she queried, 
keenly interested now. 


1 66 


©16 IRose an& Stiver 


‘‘Anything within reason,” he smiled. “I’m sorry 
we’re not millionaires. ” 

“Could I have an automobile?” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps . What kind ? ” 

“A big red touring car, with room for four or five 
people in it?” 

“I’ll tell him. It would be rather nice to have one, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“Indeed it would,” she cried, clapping her hands. 
“Oh, Allison, do persuade him to get it, won’t you?” 

“I won’t have to, if he can. I’ve never had to 
persuade my father into anything he could do for me. ” 

When he went home, Isabel kissed him, of her own 
accord, for the first time. It was a cold little kiss, 
accompanied with a whispered plea for the red auto- 
mobile, but it set his heart to thumping wildly, and 
made him forget the disdained turquoise, that lay at 
the bottom of the lily-pool. 

Within a few days, Isabel was the happy possessor 
of an engagement ring with a diamond in it — a larger, 
brighter stone than she had ever dreamed of having. 
Colonel Kent had also readily promised the auto- 
mobile, though he did not tell Allison that he should 
be obliged to sell some property in order to acquire a 
really fine car. It took until the end of the month to 
make the necessary arrangements, but on the after- 
noon of the thirtieth, a trumpeting red monster, 
bright with brass, drew up before the Kents’ door, 
having come out from town on its own power. 

As the two men had taken a brief tour over the 
wonderful roads of France, with Allison at the wheel, 
he felt no hesitation in trying an unfamiliar car. 
The old throb of exultation came back when the 


tTbe Ubfrttetb of 3une 167 

monster responded to his touch and chugged out of 
the driveway on its lowest speed. 

He turned back to wave his hand at his father, who 
stood smiling on the veranda, with the chauffeur 
beside him. ‘‘I’ll get Isabel,” he called, ‘‘then come 
back for you.” ’ 

He reached Madame Bernard’s without accident, 
and Isabel, almost wild with joy, ran out of the gate 
to meet him and climbed in. Only Rose, from the 
shelter of her curtains, saw them as they went away. 

‘‘Where shall we go?” Isabel asked. She was hat- 
less and the sun dwelt lovingly upon her shining black 
hair. 

‘‘Back for Dad. He’s waiting for us. Do you like 
it, dear?” 

“Indeed I do. Oh, so much! It was lovely of him, 
wasn’t it? He wouldn’t care, would he, if we took a 
little ride just by ourselves before we went back for 
him?” 

“Of course not, but we can’t go far and we’ll have 
to go fast.” 

“ I love to go fast. I’ve never been fast enough yet. 
I wonder if the Crosbys have got their automobile?” 

“I heard so, but I haven’t seen it. I understand 
that Romeo is learning to drive it in the narrow 
boundaries of the yard. ” 

“What day of the month is it?” 

“The thirtieth. There’s less than three months to 
wait now, darling — then you’ll be mine, all mine. ” 

“Then this is the day the Crosbys were going to 
celebrate — it’s the anniversary of their uncle’s death. 
I’m glad we’ve got our automobile. Can’t we go by 
there ? It’s only three miles, and I ’d love to have them 
see us go by, at full speed. ” 


168 


©ID *Rose anD Stiver 


Obediently, Allison turned into the winding road 
which led to Crosbys’, and, to please Isabel, drove at 
the third speed. Once under way, the road spun 
dustily backward under the purring car, and the wind 
Sn their faces felt like the current of a stream. 

“Oh,” cried Isabel, rapturously; “isn’t it lovely!” 
“I’m almost afraid to go so fast, dear. If there 
should be another car on this road, we might collide 
at some of these sharp turns. ” 

“But there isn’t. There’s not another automobile 
in this sleepy little town, except the Crosbys’. It isn’t 
likely that they’re out in theirs now, on this road. ” 

But, as it happened, they were. After some difficul- 
ties at the start, Romeo had engineered “The Yellow 
Peril” out through a large break in the fence. The 
twins wore their brown suits with tan leather trim- 
mings, and, as planned long ago, the back seat of the 
machine was partially filled with raw meat of the sort 
most liked by Romeo’s canine dependents. 

Two yellow flags fluttered from the back of the 
driver’s seat. One had the initials “C. T.” in black, 
on the other, in red, was “The Yellow Peril.” The 
name of the machine and the monogram were strik- 
ingly in evidence on the doors and at the back, where 
a choice cut of roast beef, uncooked, dangled tempt- 
ingly by a strong cord. 

Just before they started, Juliet unfastened the bam 
door and freed nineteen starving dogs, all in collars 
suited to the general colour scheme of the automobile, 
and bearing the initials, “C. T.” When they sniffed 
the grateful odour borne on the warm June wind, they 
plunged after the machine with howls and yelps of 
delight. Only Minerva remained behind, having five 
new puppies to care for. 


Ube ^Thirtieth of June 169 

“Oh, Romie, Romie!” shouted Juliet, in ecstasy. 
vt They’re coming! See!” 

Romeo looked back for the fraction of an instant, 
saw that they were, indeed, “coming,” and then dis- 
covered that he had lost control of the machine. 
“Sit tight,” he said, to Juliet, between clenched 
teeth. 

“I am,” she screamed, gleefully. “Oh, Romie, if 
uncle could only see us now!” 

“Uncle’s likely to see us very soon,” retorted 
Romeo grimly, “unless I can keep her on the road.” 

But Juliet was absorbed in the joy of the moment 
and did not hear. A cloud of dust, through which 
gleamed brass and red, appeared on the road ahead 
of them, having rounded the curve at high speed. At 
the same instant, Allison saw just beyond him, the 
screaming fantasy of colour and sound, 

“Jump ! ” he cried to Isabel. “ Jump for your life ! ” 

She immediately obeyed him, falling in a little white 
heap at the roadside. He rose, headed the machine 
toward the ditch at the right and jumped to the left, 
falling face down in the road with his hands out- 
stretched. Before he could stir, the other machine 
roared heavily over him, grazing his left hand and 
crushing it into the deep dust. 

There was almost an instant of unbelievable agony, 
then, mercifully, darkness and oblivion. 


XV 


“Ibow Sbe 1GIUI Come to tffce" 

The darkness swayed but did not lift. There was a 
strange rhythm in its movement, as though it were the 
sea, but there was no sound. Black shadows crept 
upon him, then slowly ebbed away. At times he was 
part of the darkness, at others, separate from it, yet 
lying upon it and wholly sustained by it. 

At intervals, the swaying movement changed. His 
feet sank slowly in distinct pulsations until he stood 
almost upright, then his head began to sink and his 
feet to rise. When his head was far down and his feet 
almost directly above him, the motion changed again 
and he came back gradually to the horizontal, sinking 
back with one heart-beat and rising with the next — 
always a little higher. 

How still it was! The silence of eternity was in that 
all compassing dark, which reached to the uttermost 
boundaries of space. It was hollow and empty, save 
for him, rising and falling, rising and falling, in a series 
of regular movements corresponding almost exactly 
to the ticking of a watch. 

A faint, sickening odour crept through the darkness, 
followed by a black overwhelming shadow which 
threatened to engulf him in its depths. Still swaying, 
he waited for it calmly. All at once it was upon him, 
but swiftly receded. He seemed to sway backward 
170 


“f>ow Sbe Mill Come to /§be” 171 

out of it, and as he looked back upon it, gathering its 
forces for another attack, he saw that it was different 
from the darkness upon which he lay — that, instead 
of black, it was a deep purple. 

The odour persisted and almost nauseated him. It 
was vaguely familiar, though he had never before 
come into intimate contact with it. Was it the purple 
shadow, that ebbed and flowed so strangely upon his 
dark horizon, growing to a brighter purple with each 
movement? 

The purple grew very bright, then deepened to 
blue — almost black. Dancing tongues of flame shot 
through the darkness, as he swung through it, up and 
down, like a ship moved by a heavy ground-swell. 
The flames took colour and increased in number. 
Violet, orange, blue, green, and yellow flickered for an 
instant, then disappeared. 

The darkness was not quite so heavy, but it still 
swayed. The javelins of flame shot through it con- 
tinually, making a web of iridescence. Then the 
purple shadow approached majestically and put them 
out. When it retreated, they came again, but the 
colour was fainter. 

The yellow flames darted toward him from every 
conceivable direction, stabbing him like needles. In 
this light, the purple shadow changed to blue and 
began to grow brighter. The sickening odour was so 
strong now that he could scarcely breathe. The blue 
shadow warred with the yellow flames, but could not 
put them out. He saw now that the shadow was his 
friend and the flames were a host of enemies. 

All the little stabbing lights suddenly merged into 
one. He was surrounded by fire that burned him as 
he swayed back and forth, and the cool shadows were 


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©R> IRose anD Silver 


gone. The light grew intense and terrible, but he 
could not lift his hand to shade his eyes. Slowly the 
orange deepened to scarlet in which he spun around 
giddily among myriads of blood-red disks. The 
scarlet grew brighter and brighter until it became a 
white, streaming light. All at once the swaying 
stopped. 

The intensity of the white light was agreeably 
tempered by a grey mist. Through the vapour, he 
saw the outlines of his own chiffonier, across the room. 
A woman in spotless white moved noiselessly about. 
Even though she did not look at him, he felt a certain 
friendliness toward her. She seemed to have been 
with him while he swayed through the shadow and 
it was pleasant to know that he had not been alone. 

On the table near the window, his violin lay as he 
had left it. The case was standing in a comer and his 
music stand had toppled over. The tom sheets of 
music rustled idly on the floor, and he wondered, fret- 
fully, why the woman in white did not pick them up. 

As if in answer to his thought, she stooped, and 
gathered them together, quietly sorting the pages 
and putting them into the open drawer that held his 
music. She closed the drawer and folded up his 
music stand without making a sound. She seemed far 
removed from him, like someone from another world. 

Cloud surrounded her, but he caught glimpses of 
her through it occasionally. She took up his violin, 
very carefully, put it into its case, and carried it out 
of the room. He did not care very much, but it 
seemed rather an impolite thing to do. He knew that 
he would not have stolen a violin when the owner was 
in the same room. 

Soon she came back and he was reassured. She 


“Dow Sbe Mill Come to n be” 


173 


had not stolen it after all. She might have broken it, 
for she seemed to feel very sorry about something. 
She was wiping her eyes with a bit of white, as women 
always did when they cried. 

It was not necessary for her to cry, on account of 
one broken violin, for he had thousands of them — 
Stradivarius, Amati, Cremona; everything. Some 
of them were highly coloured and very rare on that 
account. He had only to go to his storehouse, present 
a ticket, and choose whatever he liked — red, green, 
yellow, or even striped. 

Everybody who played the violin needed a great 
many of them, for the different moods of music. It 
was obvious that the dark brown violin with which 
he played slow, sad music could not be used for the 
Hungarian Dances. He had a special viplin for those, 
striped with barbaric colour. 

The woman who had broken one of his violins stood 
at the window with her back toward him. Her shoul- 
ders shook and from time to time she lifted the bit of 
white to her eyes. It was annoying, he thought; even 
worse than the shadows and the fire. He was about 
to call to her and suggest, ironically, that she had 
cried enough and that the flowers would be spoiled 
if they got too wet, when someone called, from the 
next room: “Miss Rose!” 

She turned quickly, wiped her eyes once more, and, 
without making a sound, went out on the white cloud 
that surrounded her half way to her waist. 

He tried to change his position a little and felt his 
own bed under him. His body was stiff and sore, but 
he had the use of it, except his left arm. Try as he 
might, he could not move it, for it was weighted down 
and it hurt terribly. 


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©to IRose atto Stiver 


“Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose.” 
The words beat hard in his ears like a clock ticking 
loudly. The accent was on the “Miss” — the last 
word was much fainter. “Rose Miss” was wrong, so 
the other must be right, except for the misplaced 
accent. Did the accent always come on the first beat 
of a measure? He had forgotten, but he would ask 
the man at the storehouse when he went to get the 
striped violin for the Hungarian Dances. 

His left hand throbbed with unbearable agony. 
The room began to spin slowly on its axis. There was 
no mist now, or even a shadow, and every sense was 
abnormally acute. The objects in the whirling room 
were phenomenally clear; even a scratch on the front 
of his chiffonier stood out distinctly. 

He could hear a clock ticking, though there was no 
clock in his room. Afar was the sound of women 
sobbing — two of them. Above it a strange voice said, 
distinctly: “There is not one chance in a thousand of 
saving his hand. If I had nurses, I would amputate 
now, before he recovers consciousness. ” 

The words struck him with the force of a blow, 
though he did not fully realise what they meant. 
The pain in his left arm and the sickening odour 
nauseated him. The cool black shadow drowned the 1 
objects in the room and crept upon him stealthily. 
Presently he was swaying again, up and down, up and 
down, in the all-encompassing, all-hiding dark. 

So it happened that he did not hear Colonel Kent’s 
ringing answer: “You shall not amputate until every 
great surgeon in the United States has said that it is 
absolutely necessary. I leave on the next train, and 
shall send them and keep on sending until there are no 
more to send. Until a man comes who thinks there 


“Dow Sfoe mill Gome to rtDe” 175 

is a chance of saving it, you are in charge — after that, 
it is his case. ” 

Day by day, a continuous procession came to the 
big Colonial house. Allison became accustomed to 
the weary round of darkness, pain, sickening odours, 
strange faces, darkness, and so on, endlessly, without 
pity or pause. 

The woman in white had mysteriously vanished. 
In her place were two, in blue and white, with queer, 
unbecoming caps. They were there one at a time, 
always ; never for more than a few minutes were they 
together. When the fierce, hot agony became unen- 
durable for even a moment longer, one of them would 
lean over him with a bit of shining silver in her hand, 
and stab him sharply for an instant. Then, with 
incredible quickness, came peace. 

Once, when two strange men had come together, 
and had gone into the adjoining room, he caught dis- 
connected fragments of conversation. “Hypersensi- 
tive — impossible — not much longer — interesting case. ” 
He wondered, as he began to sway in the darkness 
again, what 1 1 hypersensitive ’ ’ meant. Surely, he used 
to know. 

Still, it did not matter — nothing mattered now. 
In the brief intervals of consciousness, he began to 
wonder what he had been doing just before this 
happened, whatever it was. It took him days to piece 
out the disconnected memories past the whirling room, 
the woman in white, and the creeping shadows, to the 
red touring car and Isabel. 

His heart throbbed painfully, held though it was by 
some iron hand, icy cold, in a pitiless clutch. Weakly, 
he summoned the blue and white woman who sat in a 
low chair across his room. She came quickly, and put 


176 ®U> Iftose ant) Silver 

her ear very close to his lips that she might hear what 
he said. 

“Was — she — hurt?” 

“No,” said the blue and white woman, very kindly. 
“ Only slightly bruised. ” 

The next day he summoned her again. As before, 
she bent very low to catch the gasping words: “Where 
is — my — father?” 

“He had to go to town on business. He will come 
back just as soon as he can. ” 

“He — is — dead,” said Allison, with difficulty. 
“Nothing else — could take — him — away — now.” 

“No,” she assured him, “you must believe me. 
He’s all right. Everybody else is all right and we 
hope you soon will be. ” 

“No use — talking of — it,” he breathed, hoarsely. 
“I know.” 

Singly, by twos and even threes, the strange men 
continued to come from the City. Allison submitted 
wearily to the painful examinations that seemed so 
unnecessary. Some cf the men seemed kind, even 
sympathetic. Others were cold and impassive, like 
so many machines. Still others, and these were in the 
majority, were almost brutal. 

It was one of the latter sort who one day drew a 
chair up to the side of the bed with a scraping noise 
that made the recumbent figure quiver from head to 
foot. The man’s face was almost colourless, his bulg- 
ing blue eyes were cold and fish-like, distorted even 
more by the strong lenses of his spectacles. 

“Better have it over with,” he suggested. “I can 
do it now.” 

“Do what?” asked Allison, with difficulty. 

“Amputate your hand. There’s no chance. ” 


“Ibow Sbe Willi Come to flbe” 


177 


The blue and white young woman then on duty 
came forward. “I beg your pardon, Doctor, but 
Colonel Kent left strict orders not to operate without 
his consent.” 

The strange man disdained to answer the nurse, 
but turned to Allison again. “Do you know where 
your father can be reached by wire?’* 

“ My father — is dead, ” Allison insisted. He closed 
his eyes and would answer no more questions. In the 
next room, he heard the nurse and the doctor talking 
in low tones that did not carry. Only one word rose 
above the murmur: “ Delusion. ” 

Allison repeated it to himself as he sank into the 
darkness again, wondering what it meant and of whom 
they were speaking. 

Slowly he recovered from the profound shock, but 
his hand did not improve. He had an idea that the 
ceaseless bandaging and unbandaging were dangerous 
as well as painful, but said nothing. He knew that his 
career, had come to its end before it had really begun, 
but it did not seem to affect him in any way. He 
considered it unemotionally and impersonally, when 
he thought of it at all. 

Two more men came together. One was brutal, 
the other merely cold. They shook their heads and 
went away. A few days later, a man of the rare sort 
came; a gentle, kindly, sympathetic soul, who seemed 
human and real. 

After the examination was finished, Allison asked, 
briefly : 1 1 Any chance ? ’ * 

The kindly man hesitated for an instant, then told 
the truth. “ I’m afraid not. ” 

The nurse happened to be out of the room, none the 
less, Allison motioned to him to come closer. Almost 


12 


i 7 8 


©15 IRose an5 Silver 


in a whisper he said: “Can you give me anything that 
will make me strong enough to write half a dozen 
lines?” 

“Could no one else write it for you?” 

“No one.” 

“Couldn’t I take the message?” 

“Could anyone take a message for me to the girl 
I was going to marry — now?” 

“I understand,” said the other, gently. “We’ll 
see. You must make it very brief. ” 

When the nurse came back, they gave him a pencil, 
propped a book up before him, and fastened a. sheet 
of paper to it by a rubber band. After the powerful 
stimulant the doctor administered had begun to take 
effect, Allison managed to write, in a very shaky, 
almost illegible hand: 

“My Dearest: 

“My left hand will have to come off. As I can’t 
ask you to marry a cripple, the only honourable thing 
for me to do is to release you from our engagement. 
Don’t think I blame you. Good-bye, darling, and 
may God bless you. 

“A. K.” 

The effort exhausted him greatly, but the thing was 
done. The nurse folded it, put it into an envelope, 
sealed it, and took the pencil from him. 

“You’ll let me address it, won’t you?” she asked. 

“Yes. Miss Isabel Ross. Anyone in the house can 
tell you where — anyone will take it to her. Thank 
you, ” he added, speaking to the doctor. 

That night, for the first time, the situation began to 
affect him personally. In the hours after midnight, as 


" tbow Sbe mill Come to flbe ” 


179 


the forces of the physical body ebbed toward the 
lowest point, those of the mind seemed to increase. 
Staring at the low night-light, that by its feeble flicker 
exorcised the thousand phantoms that beset him, he 
could think clearly. In a rocking-chair, across the 
room, the night nurse dozed, with a white shawl 
wrapped around her. He could hear her deep, regular 
breathing as she slept. 

His father was dead — he knew that for an absolute 
fact, and wondered why the two kind women and the 
endless, varying procession of men should so per- 
sistently lie to him about this when they were willing 
to tell him the truth about everything else. 

He also knew that, sooner or later, his left hand 
would be amputated and that his career would come 
to an inglorious end — indeed, the end had already 
come. The ordeal painfully shadowed upon his hori- 
zon was only the final seal. Fortunately there was 
money enough for everything — he would want piti- 
fully little for the rest of his life. 

His life stretched out before him in a waste of 
empty years. He was thirty, now, and his father had 
lived until well past seventy ; might have lived many 
years more had he not died when his heart broke over 
the misfortunes of his idolised son. He couk. re- 
member the rumble of the carriage wheels the night of 
the funeral. The nurse had dozed in her chair just 
as she was dozing now, while downstairs they carried 
his father out of the house in a black casket and buried 
him. It was all as clear as though it had happened 
yesterday, instead of ages ago. 

A clock, somewhere near by, chimed three quick, 
silvery strokes. With the last stroke, the clock in the 
kitchen struck three, also, in a different tone and with 


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©16 IRose an£> Silver 


an annoying briskness of manner. As the echo died 
away, the old grandfather’s clock on the landing 
boomed out three portentously solemn chimes. It was 
followed almost immediately by a cheery, impertinent 
little clock, insisting that it was four and almost time 
for sunrise. 

The nurse stirred in her chair, yawned, and came 
over to the bed. She straightened the blankets with a 
practised hand, changed his hot pillow for a fresh one, 
brought him a drink of cool water, and went back to 
her chair without having said a word. The gentle 
ministry comforted him insensibly. What magic there 
was in the touch of a woman’s hand! But, in the 
long grey years ahead, there would be no woman 
unless — Isabel 

Sometime that afternoon, or early in the evening, 
she had received his note. It was not strange that 
they had not allowed her to come to see him, because 
no one had seen him but the doctors and nurses. 
Even Aunt Francesca, whom he had known all his 
life, had not darkened his open door. 

But now, Isabel would come — she could not help 
but come. With the passing of the fateful hour, 
strength began to return slowly. She would come 
to-morrow, and every tick of the clock brought 
to-morrow a second nearer. 

A steadily increasing warmth came into his veins 
and thawed the ice around his heart. The cold 
hand that had held it so long mercifully loosened 
its fingers. He turned his face toward the East- 
ern window, that he might watch for the first faint 
glow. 

A single long, deepening shadow struck across the 
far horizon like the turning out of a light. Almost 


“Ibow Sbe mm Come to flDe” 181 

Immediately, the distant East brightened. Day was 
coming — the sun, and Isabel. 

With the first hint of colour, hope dawned in his 
soul, changing to certainty as the light increased. It 
was not in the way of things that he, who had always 
had everything, should at one fell stroke be left deso- 
late. Out of the wreckage there was one thing he 
might keep — Isabel. 

He laughed at the thought that she would accept 
her release. What would he have done he asked 
himself, were it she instead of him? Could mutilation, 
or even death, change his love for her? He was equally 
sure that hers could not be changed. 

It was fortunate that she was saved — that it was he 
instead of Isabel. She had pretty hands — such dear 
hands as men have loved and kissed since, back in the 
garden, the First Woman gave hers to the First Man, 
that he might lead her wheresoever he would. 

In the midst of the wreckage, he perceived a divine 
compensation, for Isabel would not fail him — she 
could not fail him now. Transfigured by tenderness, 
her coldness changed to the utmost yielding, to- 
morrow would bring him his goddess, a deeply-loving 
woman at last. 

"How she will come to me,” he said to himself, 
feeling, in fancy, her soft arms around him, and her 
warm lips on his, while the life-current flowed steadily 
from her to him and made him a man again, not a 
weakling. His heart beat with a joy that was almost 
pain, for he could feel her intoxicating nearness even 
now. Perhaps her sweet eyes would overflow with 
the greatness of her love and her tears would fall upon 
his face when she knelt beside him, to lay her head 
upon his breast. 


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©ID IRose anD super 


“ How she will come to me ! ” he breathed, in ecstasy , 
“ Ah, how she will come!” 

And so, smiling, he slept, as the first shaft of sun 
that brought his dear To-Morrow fell full upon his 
face. 


XVI 


Ibow Iteabel Came 

Madame Bernard and Rose were so deeply affected 
by Allison’s misfortune that they scarcely took note 
of Isabel’s few bruises, greatly to that young woman’s 
disgust. She chose to consider herself in the light of a 
martyr and had calmly received the announcement 
that Allison’s left hand would probably have to be 
amputated. 

None of them had seen him, though the two older 
women were ready to go at any hour of the day or 
night they might be needed or asked for. Isabel 
affected a sprained ankle and limped badly when any- 
one was looking. Once or twice she had been seen to 
walk almost as usual, though she did not know it. 

The upper hall, and, occasionally, the other parts 
of the house, smelled of the various liniments and 
lotions with which she anointed herself. She scorned 
the suggestion that she should stay in bed, for she was 
quite comfortable upon a couch, in her most becoming 
negligee, with a novel and a box of chocolates to bear 
her company. 

At first, she had taken her meals in her own room, 
but, finding that it was more pleasant to be down- 
stairs with the others for luncheon and dinner, 
managed to go up and down the long flight of stairs 
twice each day. 


183 


184 


®l& IRose artb Silver 


Placid as she was, the table was not a cheerful 
place, for the faces of the other two were haggard and 
drawn, and neither made more than a pretence of 
eating. Daily bulletins came from the other house as 
to Allison’s condition, and Madame was in constant 
communication by telegraph with Colonel Kent. She 
kept him reassured as much as possible, and did not 
tell him of Allison’s ineradicable delusion that his 
father was dead. 

Allison’s note was given to Isabel at luncheon the 
day after it was written, having been delayed in 
delivery the night before until after she was asleep. 
With it was a letter from her mother, which had come 
in the noon mail. 

She opened Allison’s note first, read it, and put it 
back into the envelope. Her mother’s letter was 
almost equally brief. That, too, she returned to its 
envelope without comment. 

“How is your mother, Isabel?” inquired Madame, 
having caught a glimpse of the bold, dashing super- 
scription which was familiar, though infrequent. 

“She’s all right,” Isabel answered, breaking open 
a hot muffin. “It’s funny that it should come at the 
same time as the other. ” 

“Why?” asked Rose, merely for the sake of making 
conversation. 

“Because just as Mamma writes to tell me that 
marriage is slavery, but that if he can take care of 
me and Aunt Francesca approves of him, it will be 
all right, Allison writes and releases me from the 
engagement.” 

“Poor boy!” sighed Madame. 

“I don t knew why you should say ‘poor boy,’ ” 
Isabel observed, rather fretfully. “He’s not very ill 


Dow TfsaDel dame 185 

Xl he can write letters. I’m sure I don’t feel like 
writing any. ” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” said Madame, half to 
herself. 

“And as for his releasing me,” Isabel went on, 
coolly, “I’m glad he was decent enough to do it and 
save me the trouble of releasing myself. ” 

Rose got to her feet somehow, her face deathly 
white, “Do you mean,” she cried, “that you would 
think for a minute of accepting release?” 

“Why, certainly,” the girl replied, in astonishment. 
“Why not? He says himself that he can’t ask me to 
marry a cripple ” 

Rose winced visibly. “Isabel!” she breathed. 
“Oh, Isabel!” 

“My dear,” said Madame, with such kindness as 
she could muster, “have you forgotten that he saved 
you from death, or worse?” 

“He didn’t do anything for me but to tell me to 
jump. I did more for him than that. Nobody 
seems to think it was anything for me to get up 
out of the dust, with my best white dress all ruined 
and my face scratched and my ankle sprained and 
one arm bleeding, and help the Crosbys carry a 
heavy man to their machine and lay him on the back 
seat.” 

“I thought the Crosbys carried him,” put in 
Madame. “They’re strong enough to do it, I should 
think.” 

“Well, I helped. I had to take all that nasty raw 
meat out of the back seat and throw it out in the ditch 
to the dogs, and stand up all the way home, bruised 
as I was, to keep him from falling off the seat. We 
were in a perfect bedlam there for a while, but it 


lS6 


©id TRose anD stiver 


doesn’t seem to make any difference to anybody. 
Nobody cares what happens to me. ” 

“Besides,” she went on, with her voice raised to a 
high pitch by excitement, “I don’t see why I should 
be expected to marry a man with only one hand. He 
can’t play any more, and if he can’t play, how can he 
make any money to take care of me, even if I should 
tie myself to him for life? Do you expect me to take 
in washing and take care of him?” 

“Isabel,” said Madame, coldly, “please stop talk- 
ing so loudly and please listen for a moment. Nobody 
expects you to marry a man whom, for any reason on 
earth, you do not love well enough to marry. Kindly 
consider that as something to be settled in accordance 
with your own wishes and desires. ” 

“Certainly,” interrupted the girl. “I’d like to see 
anybody force me to marry him!” 

Madame compressed her lips into a thin, tight line, 
and her face became stem, even hard. She clenched 
her small hands tightly and her breath came quickly. 
A red spot burned on either cheek. 

Never having seen Madame angry before, Rose was 
almost frightened. She herself was not angry, but 
hurt — for him. At the moment she heard of the 
accident, her love for him had transcended the bounds 
of self and merged into prayer for him and for his good, 
whatever that might prove to be. 

“Isabel,” said Rose, very softly, “will you do one 
thing for me?” 

“What?” Isabel demanded, suspiciously. 

“Listen, d$ar. For me, if not for him, will you go 
to him, and — well, simply be kind? Don’t let him 
think that this terrible thing has separated him from 
you or changed your love. Wait until he is strong 


Ibow Isabel Came 187 

and well again before you tell him. Will you, 
please?’’ 

Isabel’s flushed face took on the expression of out- 
raged virtue. “ I don’t know why I should be expected 
to lie, ” she remarked evasively, with a subtle change 
of manner. 

Madame Bernard cleared her throat. “Your love 
was a lie, ” she said, in a tone that neither of them 
had ever heard her use before. “One more won’t 
matter. ” 

Isabel fidgeted in her chair and nervously tapped 
the edge of her plate with her fork. “ I haven’t heard 
anybody say,” she began, with the air of one scoring 
a fine point, “that his father doesn’t love him, and yet 
he hasn’t gone near him — hasn’t even seen him since 
we were hurt. If Colonel Kent can stay away from 
him, I don’t know why I can’t.” 

The argument seemed unanswerable, for neither 
Madame nor Rose spoke. They sat with averted 
eyes, until the silence became oppressive, and Isabel, 
with ostentatious difficulty, pushed back her chair 
and limped painfully out of the room. 

When she had-locked her own door, she was more at 
ease, and began to survey her unpleasant situation. 
Nobody seemed to consider her at all — it was only 
Allison, and everything and everybody, apparently, 
must be sacrificed for him. Just because she had 
promised to marry him, when he had both hands, they 
wanted her to go on with it, in spite of the fact that he 
saw it was impossible. 

Isabel sighed heavily. Nobody knew how keenly 
disappointed she was. She had written to her few 
friends, told them about her engagement ring, the 
plans made for her trousseau, the promised touring 


i88 


©lb IRose artb Silver 


car, and the brilliant social career that lay before her 
as the wife of a famous violinist. 

She pictured a triumphal tour from city to city, 
with the leaders of fashion everywhere vying with 
each other in entertaining them — or, at least, her. 
It would, of course, be necessary for Allison to play 
occasionally in the evening and they would miss a 
great deal on that account, but her days would be free, 
and she could cancel all her own social obligations by 
complimentary tickets and suppers after the concerts. 

She had planned it all as she took lazy stitches in 
her dainty lingerie. Aunt Francesca and Rose had 
been helping her, but the whole thing had stopped 
suddenly. It seemed rather selfish of them not to go 
on with it, for lingerie was always useful, and even 
though she should not marry Allison, it was not at all 
improbable that she would marry someone else. 

If she could find anybody who had plenty of 
money and would be good to her, she knew that she 
would encounter no parental opposition, in spite of 
Mrs. Ross’s pronounced views upon the slavery of 
matrimony. 

Allison had been very decent in releasing her from 
her awkward predicament. He had even arranged it 
so that no answer was necessary and she need not even 
see him again. She had the natural shrinking of the 
healthy young animal from its own stricken kind. It 
would be much nicer not to see him again. 

But, if he could write letters now, it would not be 
long before he would be able to come over, though his 
hand had not yet been taken off. It was too bad, for 
everything had been very pleasant until the accident. 
She had missed Allison’s daily visits and had probably 
lost the touring car, though as she had taken pains to 


Ibow Usabel Came 189 

find out, it had fallen into the ditch and had been 
injured very little. 

Aunt Francesca and Rose had been queer ever 
since it happened. After Colonel Kent and the ser- 
vants and the twins had lifted Allison out of “The 
Yellow Peril” and carried him up to his own room on 
an improvised stretcher, while someone else was 
telephoning for every doctor in the neighbourhood, the 
twins had taken her home. She had insisted upon 
their helping her up the steps, and as soon as Aunt 
Francesca and Rose heard the news, they had paid 
no attention to her at all, but, with one voice, had 
demanded that the twins should take them to Kent’s 
immediately. 

They had gone without even stopping for their hats, 
and left her wholly to the servants. Even when they 
had come home, late at night, in their own carriage, 
it was over half an hour before Aunt Francesca came 
to her room, so overburdened with selfish grief that 
she did not even listen to the recital of Isabel’s 
numerous bruises. 

Perhaps it would be best to go away, though the 
city was terrible in Summer, and she had only money 
enough to take her to the hotel where her mother 
retained a suite of three rooms. If Aunt Francesca 
and Rose v/ould leave her alone in the house long 
enough, and she could pack a suit-case and get the 
carriage just in time to take her to the train, she could 
write a formal note and ask to have the rest of her 
things sent by express. If there were a late train, or 
one very early in the morning, she could probably 
manage it, even without the carriage, but, on con- 
sulting the time-table, she found that trains did not 
run at hours suitable for escape. 


190 


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However, it was just as well to pack while she had 
time. She could keep the suit-case hidden until the 
auspicious moment arrived. It would oriy take a 
moment to open it and sweep her toilet articles into 
it from the top of her dresser. 

She had just taken a fresh shirtwaist out of the 
drawer when there was a light, determined rap at the 
door. When she opened it, she was much astonished 
to see Aunt Francesca come in, dressed for a drive. 

“ Are you almost ready, Isabel? ” she asked, politely. 

“ Ready, ” gasped the girl. 44 For what? ” It seemed 
for the moment as though she had been anticipated in 
her departure and was about to be put out of the 
house. 

44 To drive over to Kent’s/* answered Madame, 
imperturbably. From her manner one would have 
thought the drive had been long planned. 

Isabel sat down on her bed. “I’m not going,” she 
said. 

“Oh, yes, you are,” returned Madame, in a small, 
thin voice. 4 4 You may go in your tea gown and 
slippers if you prefer, but I will wait until you dress, 
if you are quick about it. ” 

44 1 won’t,” Isabel announced, flatly. 44 I’m sick. 
You know I’m all bruised up and I can’t walk.” 

44 You can walk down-stairs and it’s only a few steps 
farther to the carriage. I telephoned over to ask if he 
would see you, and the nurse said that he would be 
very glad to see you — that he had been asking all day 
why you did not come. The carriage is waiting at the 
door, so please hurry. ” 

Isabel was head and shoulders taller than the 
determined little lady who stood there, waiting, but 
there was something in her manner that demanded 


fbow Isabel Came 


191 

immediate obedience. Sullenly, Isabel began to dress. 
If Aunt Francesca went with her, it would not be 
necessary to say much. She caught at the thought as 
though she were drowning and the proverbial straw 
had floated into reach. 

She took her time about dressing, but Madame said 
nothing. She simply stood there, waiting, in the open 
door, until the last knot was tied, the last pin ad- 
justed, and the last stray lock brushed into place. 

Isabel limped ostentatiously all the way down- 
stairs and had to be assisted into the carriage. During 
the brief drive neither spoke. The silence was un- 
broken until they reached the door of Allison’s room, 
then Madame said, in a low tone: “The carriage will 
call for you in an hour. Remember he loves you, and 
be kind. ” 

Up to that moment, Isabel had not suspected that 
she would be obliged to see him alone. She was furious 
with Aunt Francesca for thus betraying her, but no 
retreat was possible. The nurse smilingly ushered her 
in, passed her almost on the threshold, and went out, 
quietly closing the door. 

Allison, as eager as a boy of twenty, had half risen 
in bed. The injured hand was hidden by the sheet, 
but the other was outstretched in welcome. “ Isabel, ” 
he breathed. “My Isabel!” 

Isabel did not move. “How do you do?” she said, 
primly. 

“I’m sorry I can’t get you a chair, dear. Come 
close, won’t you?” 

Isabel limped painfully to the chair that was 
farthest from him, dragged it over to the bed, and 
sat down — just out of his reach. Below, the rumble 
of wheels announced that Madame had gone back 


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home. Unless she walked, Isabel w r as stranded at 
Kent’s for a full hour. 

“My note,” Allison was saying. “You got it, 
didn't you?” 

“Yes. It came while I was at luncheon to-day. ” 

It flashed upon him for an instant that the reality 
was disappointing, that this was not all as he had 
dreamed it would be, but pride bade him conceal his 
disappointment as best he could. 

“You were hurt,” he said, tenderly. “I'm so 
sorry. ” 

“Yes. I was hurt quite a good deal. ” 

“But you're all right now, and I’m so glad!” 

“Thank you,” she answered, listlessly. 

Her eyes roved about the room, observing every 
detail of furniture and ornament. It was old-fash- 
ioned, and in a way queer, she thought. She was glad 
that she would never have to live there. 

Allison watched her eagerly. Like a wayfarer in 
the desert thirsting for water, he longed for her 
tenderness; for one unsought kiss, even in farewell. 
His pride sustained him no longer. “Dear,” he 
pleaded, like the veriest beggar; “won’t you kiss me 
just once?” 

Isabel hesitated. “It isn't proper, ” she murmured, 
“now that we are no longer engaged. I'm sorry you 
got hurt, ” she added, as an afterthought. 

Allison's face paled suddenly. So, she accepted her 
release! Then eager justification of her made him 
wonder if by any chance she could have misunder- 
stood. 

“Dearest,” he said, with cold lips, “did you think 
for a single instant that I wanted to release you? I 
did it because it was the only thing an honourable man 


too w flsabei Came 


193 


could do, and I wouldn’t let pity for me hold you to a 
promise made in love. It wasn’t that I didn’t want 
you. I’ve wanted you every day and every hour. 
Only God knows how I’ve wanted you and shall want 
you all the rest of my life, unless ” 

He paused, hoping, for the space of a heart-beat, 
that the dream might come true. 

But Isabel did not move from her chair. She sur- 
veyed the opposite wall for a few moments before she 
spoke. “It was honourable,’’ she said, in a more 
friendly tone. “Of course it was the only thing you 
could do.” 

“Of course,” he echoed, bitterly. 

Isabel rose, went to the foot of the bed, and leaned 
upon it, facing him. “I’m afraid I’ve stayed too 
long,” she said. “I think I’d better go. I can wait 
downstairs for the carriage.” 

Allison did not answer. His eyes burned strangely 
in his white face, making her vaguely uncomfortable 
and afraid. She turned the diamond ring upon her 
finger and slowly slipped it off. 

“I suppose I must give this back,” she said, 
reluctantly. “ I mustn’t wear it now. ” 

“Why not?” he asked huskily. 

“Because it doesn’t mean anything — now.” 

“It never did. Keep it, Isabel.” 

“Thank you, ” she said, calmly, putting it back, but 
on the middle finger. “ I must go how. I hope you’ll 
get along all right. ” 

“Wait just a minute, please.” He rang a bell 
that was on a table within his reach, and the nurse 
came in. “ Please bring me my violin. ” 

Isabel turned to the door but was held back by a 
peremptory command . “ W ait ! ’ ’ 

13 


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©It> tRose ant) Silver 


“Here, ” he cried shrilly, offering Isabel the violin. 
“Take this, too!" 

“What for?” she asked, curiously. “I can’t play. ” 

“Nevertheless, it belongs to you. Keep it, as a 
souvenir!” 

Holding the violin awkwardly, Isabel backed out 
of the room, the nurse following her and closing the 
door. The nurse was a young woman who had not 
sacrificed her normal human sympathy to her chosen 
work, but had managed, happily, to combine the two. 
She watched Isabel disdainfully as she went dowrn- 
stairs, very briskly for one with a sprained ankle. 

“God!” said Allison, aloud. “Oh, Godin Heaven!” 

Then the nurse turned away in pity, for behind the 
closed door she heard a grown man sobbing like a 
hurt child. 


XVII 


finance 

The Crosby twins had gone home very quietly, after 
doing all they could to help Colonel Kent and Madame 
Bernard. “The Yellow Peril” chugged along at the 
lowest speed with all its gaudy banners tom down. 
Neither spoke until they passed the spot where the 
red touring car lay on its side in the ditch, and four or 
five dogs, still hungry and hopeful, wrangled over a 
few bare bones. 

Juliet was sniffing audibly, and, as soon as she 
saw the wreck, burst into tears. “Oh, Romie,” she 
sobbed, “if he’s dead, we’ve killed him!” 

Romeo swallowed a lump in his throat, winked 
hard, and roughly advised Juliet to “shut up.” 

When the machine was safely in the barn, and all 
the scattered dogs collected and imprisoned, Romeo 
came in, ready to talk it over. “We’ve got to do 
something,” he said, “but I don’t know what it is.” 

“Oh, Romie,” cried Juliet with a fresh burst 
of tears, “do you think they’ll hang us? We’re 
murderers!” 

f Romeo considered for a moment before he answered. 
“We aren’t murderers, because we didn’t go to do it. 
They won’t hang us — but they ought to,” he added, 
remorsefully. 

“What can we do?” mourned Juliet. “Oh, what 
can we do?” 


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“Well, we can pay all the bills for one thing — 
that’s a good start. To-morrow, I’ll see about getting 
that car out of the ditch and taking care of it. ” 

“Somebody may steal it,’’ she suggested. 

“ Not if we guard it. One or both of us ought to sit 
by it until we can get it into the barn. ” 

Juliet wiped her eyes. “ That’s right. We’ll guard 
it all night to-night and while we’re guarding it, we’ll 
talk it all over and decide what to do. ” 

The dinner of unwholesome delicacies which they 
had planned as the last feature of the day’s celebra- 
tion was hesitatingly renounced. “We don’t deserve 
to have anything at all to eat, ” said Juliet. “What is 
it that they feed prisoners on?’’ 

“Bread and water — black bread?” 

“Where could we get black bread?” 

“I don’t know. I never saw any. ” 

After discussing a penitential menu for some time, 
they finally decided to live upon mush and milk for 
the present, and, if Allison should die, forever. “We 
can warm it in the winter, ” said Romeo, “and it won’t 
be so bad.” 

When their frugal repast was finished, they in- 
stinctively changed their festal garments for the sober 
attire of every day. Romeo brought in two lanterns 
and Juliet pasted red tissue paper around them, so 
that they might serve as warning signals of the wreck. 
At sunset, they set forth, each with a blanket and 
a lantern to do sentry duty by the capsized car. 

“Oughtn’t we to have a dog or two?” queried 
Romeo, as they trudged down the road. “ Watchmen 
always have dogs. ” 

“We oughtn’t to have anything that would make 
it any easier for us to watch, and besides, the dogs. 


penance 


197 


weren’t to blame. They don’t need to sit up with t. s — 
let ’em have their sleep. ” 

“'All right,” Romeo grunted. “ Shall we divide 
the night into watches and one of us sit on the car 
while the other walks?” 

“No, we’ll watch together, and we won’t sit on the 
car — we’ll sit on the cold, damp ground. If we take 
cold and die it will only serve us right.” 

“We can’t take cold in June,” objected Romeo, 
“with two blankets.” 

“Unless it rains.” 

“It won’t rain to-night,” he said, gloomily; “look 
at the stars!” 

The sky was clear, and pale stars shone faintly in 
the afterglow. There was not even a light breeze — 
the world was as still and calm as though pain and 
death were unknown. 

When they reached the scene of the accident 
Romeo set the two red lanterns at tb*. point where 
the back of the car touched the road. They spread 
one blanket on the grass at the other side of the road 
and sat down to begin their long vigil. Romeo planned 
to go home to breakfast at sunrise and bring Juliet 
some of the mush and milk left from supper. Then, 
while she continued to watch the machine, he would 
go into town and make arrangements for its removal. 

“Is there room in our barn for both cars?” she 
asked. 

“No. Ours will have to come out. ” 

Juliet shuddered. “I never want to see it again.” 

"Neither do I.” / 

“Can we sell it?” 

“We ought not to sell it unless we gave him the 
money. We shouldn’t have it ourselves.” 


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''Then,” suggested Juliet, “why don’t we give it 
away and give him just as much as it cost, including 
our suits and the dogs’ collars and everything?” 

“We have no right to give away a man-killer. 
‘The Yellow Peril’ is cursed.” 

“Let’s sacrifice it,” she cried. “Let’s make a 
funeral pyre in the yard and burn it, and our suits and 
the dogs’ collars and everything. Let’s burn every- 
thing we’ve got that we care for!” 

“All right,” agreed Romeo, uplifted by the zeal 
of the true martyr. “And,” he added, regretfully, 
“I’ll shoot all the dogs and bury ’em in one long 
trench. I don’t want to see anything again that was 
in it.” 

“I don’t either,” returned Juliet. She wondered 
whether she should permit the wholesale execution of 
the herd, since it was a thing she had secretly desired 
for a long time. “You mustn’t shoot Minerva and 
the puppies*’* she continued, as her strict sense of 
justice asserted itself, “because she wasn’t in it. She 
was at home taking care of her children and they’d 
die if she should be shot now.” 

So it was settled that Minerva, who had taken no 
part in the fatal celebration, should be spared, with 
her innocent babes. 

“And in a few years more,” said Romeo, hopefully, 
“we’ll have lots more dogs, though probably not as 
many as we’ve got now. ” 

Juliet sighed heavily but was in honour bound to 
make no objections, for long ago, when they arbi- 
trated the dog question, it was written in the covenant 
that no dogs should be imported or none killed, except 
by mutual consent. And Minerva had five puppies, 
and if each of the five should follow the maternal 


©enance 


199 


example, and if each of those should do likewise — 
Juliet fairly lost her head in a maze of mental 
arithmetic. 

"We ought to go into deep mourning/ * Romeo was 
saying. 

"I’ve been thinking of that. We should repent in 
sackcloth and ashes, only I don’t know what sackcloth 
is.” 

"I guess it’s that rough brown stuff they make 
potato bags of.” 

"Burlap?” 

"Yes. But we haven’t many ashes at this time of 
year and we’ll have still less if we live on mush and 
milk.” 

"Maybe we could get ashes somewhere,” she said, 
thoughtfully. 

"We’d have to, because it would take us over a 
year to get enough to repent in.” 

"There’ll be ashes left from the automobile and the 
suits, and if you can get enough potato bags, I’ll fix 
’em so we can wear ’em at the sacrifice and afterwards 
we can buy deep mourning. ” 

"All right, but you mustn’t make pretty suits.” 

"I couldn’t, out of potato bags. They’ll have to be 
plain — very plain.” 

"The first thing is to get this car into our barn, and 
write and tell Colonel Kent where it is. Then we’ll 
get our black clothes, and then we’ll shoot the dogs 
and bury ’em, and then we’ll have the sacrifice, and 
then ” 

"And then,” repeated Juliet. 

"Then we’ll have to go and tell ’em all what we’ve 
done, and offer to pay all the bills, and give ’em the 
price of the car besides for damages. ” 


coo 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


“Oh, Romie,” cried Juliet, with a shudder, “we 
don’t have to go and tell ’em, do we? We don’t have 
to take strangers into our consciences, do we?’’ 

“Certainly,” replied Romeo, sternly. “Just be- 
cause we don’t want to do it is why we’ve got to. 
We’ve got to do hard things when we make a sacrifice. 
Lots of people think they’re charitable if they give 
away their old clothes and things they don’t want. 
It isn’t charity to give away things you want to get 
rid of and it isn’t a sacrifice to do things you don’t 
mind doing. The harder it is and the more we don’t 
want to do it, the better sacrifice.” 

His logic was convincing, but Juliet drooped visibly. 
The bent little figure on the blanket was pathetic, 
but the twins were not given to self-pity. As time 
went on, the conversation lagged. They had both 
had a hard day, from more than one standpoint, and 
it was not surprising that by midnight, the self- 
appointed sentries were sound asleep upon one 
blanket, with Romeo’s coat for a pillow and the other 
blanket tucked around them. 

The red lanterns burned faithfully until almost 
dawn, then smoked and went out, leaving an un- 
pleasant odour that lasted until sunrise. The rumble 
of a distant cart woke them, and they sat up, shame- 
facedly rubbing their eyes. 

“Oh,” cried Juliet, conscience-stricken, “we went 
to sleep! We went to sleep on duty! How could we?” 

“Dunno, ” returned Romeo, with a frank yawn. 
“Guess we were tired. Anyhow, the machine is all 
right. ” 

When the milkman came in sight, they hailed him 
and purchased a quart of milk. He was scarcely sur- 
prised to see them, for the Crosbys were widely known 


penance 


201 


to be eccentric, and presently he drove on. His 
query about the wrecked car had passed unnoticed. 

“If you’ll stay here, Jule,” said Romeo, wiping his 
mouth, “I’ll go and get a team and some rope and 
we’ll get the car in. ” 

“Can’t I go too?’* 

“No, you stay here. It’s bad enough to sleep at 
your post without deserting it.” 

“You slept, too,” retorted Juliet, quickly on the 
defensive, “and I’m a girl.” 

“Huh!” he sneered. The claim of feminine privi- 
lege invariably disgusted him beyond words. 

“Suppose people come by — ” Juliet faltered; “and 
— ask — questions. ” 

“Answer ’em,” advised Romeo, briefly. “Tell 
’em we’ve killed a man and are going to suffer for 
it. We deserve to have everybody know it.” 

But, fortunately for Juliet’s quicker sensibilities, 
no one passed by in the hour Romeo was gone. He 
came from the nearest farm with an adequate number 
of assistants and such primitive machinery as was at 
hand. The car was not badly damaged and was 
finally towed into the Crosbys’ bam. Then they went 
into the house and composed a letter to Colonel 
Kent, but put off copying and sending it until they 
should be able to get black bordered stationery. 

Two weeks later, clad in deepest mourning, the 
twins trudged into town. At Colonel Kent’s there 
was no one in authority to receive them and their 
errand was of too much importance to be communi- 
cated to either physician or nurse. Their own un- 
opened letter lay on the library table, with many 
others. 

Subdued and chastened in demeanour, they went 


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to Madame Bernard’s and waited in funereal silence 
until Madame came down. 

“ How do you — ” she began, then stopped. “ Why, 
what is the matter?” 

“We ran over him, ” explained Romeo, suggestively 
inclining his head in the general direction of Kent’s. 
“Don’t you remember?” 

“And if he dies, we’ve killed him,” put in Juliet, 
sadly. 

“We’ll be murderers if he dies,” Romeo continued, 
“and we ought to be hung.” 

In spite of her own depression and deep anxiety, 
Madame saw how keenly the tragedy had affected the 
twins. ‘ 1 Why my dears ! ’ ' she cried. ‘ ‘ Do you think 
for a minute that anybody in the world blames you?” 

“We ought to be blamed,” Romeo returned, 
“because we did it.” 

“But not on purpose — you couldn’t help it.” 

“We could have helped it,” said Juliet, “by not 
celebrating. We had no business to buy an auto- 
mobile, or, even if we had, we shouldn’t have gone 
out in it until we learned to run it. ” 

“That’s like staying away from the water until 
you have learned to swim,” answered Madame, com- 
fortingly, “and Allison isn’t going to die.” 

“Really? Do you mean it? Are you sure? How 
do you know?” The words came all at once, in a 
jumble of eager questions. 

“Because he isn’t. The worst that could possibly 
happen to him would be the loss of his left hand, and 
his father is looking all over the country for some 
surgeon who can save it. ” 

“I’d rather die than to have my hand cut off,” 
said Juliet, in a small, thin voice. 


penance 


203 


“ So would I,” added Romeo. 

44 We’re all hoping for the best,” Madame went on, 
44 and you must hope, too. Nobody has thought of 
blaming you, so you mustn’t feel so badly about it. 
Even Allison himself wouldn’t want you to feel 
badly.” 

“But we do,” Romeo answered, “in spite of all the 
sacrifices and everything.” 

“Sacrifices, ” repeated Madame, wonderingly, “why 
what do you mean?” 

“We did sentry duty all night by his car,” Romeo 
explained, “and we’re taking care of it in our bam.” 

“And we’ve lived on mush and milk ever since,” 
Juliet added. 

“I shot all the dogs but the one with the puppies, ” 
said Romeo. 

“She wasn’t in it, you know,” Juliet continued. 
“I helped dig the trench and we buried the whole 
nineteen end to end by the fence, with their new 
collars on.” 

“Then we burned the automobile,” resumed 
Romeo. “We soaked it in kerosene, and put our 
suits into the back seat — our caps and goggles and 
everything. We took out all the pieces of iron and 
steel and gave ’em to the junk man, and then we 
repented in sackcloth and ashes. ” 

“How so?” queried Madame, with a faint glimmer 
of amusement in her sad eyes. 

“Juliet made suits out of potato sacks — very plain 
suits — and we put ’em on to repent in. ” 

“We went and stood in the ashes,” put in Juliet, 
“while they were so hot that they hurt our feet, and 
Romie raised his right hand and said ‘I repent’ and 
then I did the same.” 


G04 


®R> 1 Rose ant) Silver 


“And after the ashes got cold, we sat down in ’em 
and rubbed ’em into the sackcloth and our hair and 
all over our faces and hands.” 

“All the time saying, ‘I repent! I repent!’ ” com 
tinued Juliet, soberly. 

“And then we went into mourning,” concluded 
Romeo. 

Madame’s heart throbbed with tender pity for the 
stricken twins, but she wisely said nothing. 

“Can you think of anything more we could do, 
or any more sacrifices we could make?” inquired 
Juliet, ready to atone in full measure. 

“Indeed I can’t,” Madame replied, truthfully. 
“I think you’ve done everything that could be 
expected of you.” 

“We wrote to the Colonel,” said Romeo, “but he 
hasn’t got it yet. We saw it on the library table. We 
want to pay all the bills.” 

“And give Allison as much money as we spent on 
the automobile and for the suits and everything, and 
pay for fixing up his car, ” interrupted Juliet. 

“We want to do everything,” Romeo said, with 
marked emphasis. 

“Everything,” echoed Juliet. 

“That’s very nice of you,” answered Madame, 
kindly, “and we all appreciate it.” 

The stem young faces of the twins relaxed ever so 
little. It was a great relief to discover that they were 
not objects of scorn and loathing, for they had 
brooded over the accident until they had become 
morbid. 

“Did you say that you had been living upon mush 
and milk ever since?” asked Madame. 

“Ever since,” they answered, together. 


penance 


205 


“I’m sure that’s long enough,” she said. “I 
wouldn’t do it any longer. Won’t you stay to dinner 
with us?” 

With one accord the twins rose, impelled by a single 
impulse toward departure. 

“We couldn’t, ” said ^Romeo. 

“We mustn’t,” explained Juliet. Then, with be- 
lated courtesy, she added: “Thank you, just the 
same.” 

They made their adieux awkwardly and went home, 
greatly eased in mind. As they trudged along the 
dusty road, they occasionally sighed in relief, but said 
little until they reached their ancestral abode, dogless 
now save for the pups gambolling about the door-step 
and Minerva watching them with maternal pride. 

“She said we’d lived on mush and milk long 
enough,” said Romeo, pensively. 

“We might fry the mush,” Juliet suggested. 

“And have butter and maple syrup on it?” 

“Maybe.” 

“And drink the milk, and have bread, too?” 

“I guess so.” 

“And jam?” 

“Not while we’re in mourning,” said Juliet, firmly. 
“We can have syrup on our bread.” 

“That’s just as good.” 

“If you think so, you ought not to have it.” 

“We’ve got to feed ourselves, or we’ll die,” he 
objected vigorously, “and if we’re dead, we won’t be 
any good to him or to anybody else, and we can’t ever 
repent any more. ” 

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Juliet, with 
sinister emphasis. 

“Nothing will happen to us that we don’t deserve, ” 


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Romeo assured her, “so come on and let's have jam. 
If it makes us sick, it's wrong, and if it doesn't, it’s all 
right. " 

The following day, they voluntarily returned to 
their mush and milk, for they had eaten too much 
jam, and, having been very ill in the night, considered 
it sufficient evidence that their penance was not yet 
over. 


XVIII 


“Xesa Cban tbe 2)ust” 

The heat of August shimmered over the land, and 
still, to every inquiry at the door or telephone, the 
quiet young woman in blue. and white said: “No 
change.” Allison was listless and apathetic, yet 
comparatively free from pain. 

Life, for him, had ebbed back to the point where the 
tide must either cease or turn. He knew neither 
hunger nor thirst nor weariness; only the great pause 
of soul and body, the sense of the ultimate goal. 

One by one, he meditated upon the things he used 
to care for. Isabel came first, but her youth and 
beauty had ceased to trouble or to beckon. His 
father had gone on ahead. The delusion still per- 
sisted, but he spoke of it no more. Even the violin 
did not matter now. He remembered the endless 
hours he had spent at work, almost every day of his 
life for years, and to what end? In an instant, it had 
been rendered empty, purposeless, and vain — like life 
itself. 

Occasionally a new man came to look at his hand; 
not from the city now, but from towns farther inland. 
The examinations were painful, of course, but he made 
no objections. After the man had gone, he could 
count the slow, distinct pulsations that marked the 
ebbing of the pain, but never troubled himself to ask 
207 


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©lt> IRosc anfc Stiver 


either the doctor or the nurse what the new man had 
said about it. He no longer cared. 

Aunt Francesca had not come — nor Rose. Perhaps 
they were dead, also. He asked the nurse one sultry 
afternoon, if they were dead. 

“No,” she assured him; “nobody is dead.” 

He wondered, fretfully, why she should take the 
trouble to lie to him so persistently upon this one 
point. Then a cunning scheme came into his mind. 
It presented itself mechanically to him as a trap for 
the nurse. If they were dead, she could not produce 
them instantly alive, as a conjurer takes animals from 
an apparently empty box. If be demanded that she 
should bring them to him, or even one, it would prove 
his point and let her see that he knew how she was 
trying to deceive him. 

“Have they gone away?” he inquired. 

“No, they’re still there. ” 

“Then, ” said Allison, with the air of one scoring a 
fine point, “will you ask— well — ask Miss Bernard 
to come over and see me? ” 

Remembering the other woman who had come in 
response to his request, and the disastrous effect the 
visit had had upon her patient she hesitated. “I’m 
afraid you’re not strong enough,” she said kindly. 
“Can’t you wait a little longer?” 

“ There, ” he cried. “I knew they were dead!” 

As she happened to be both wise and kind, the 
young woman hesitated no longer. “If I brought 
you a note from her you would believe me, wouldn’t 
you?” 

“No, ” he replied, stubbornly. 

“Isn’t there any way you would know, without 
seeing her?” 


“ Xess than tbe Bust ” 


209 


He considered for a few moments. “I'd know if I 
heard her play, ” he said at length. “There’s no one 
who could play just the way she does. ” 

“Suppose I ask her to come over sometimes and 
play the piano downstairs for a few minutes at a time, 
very softly. Would you like that?” 

“Yes — that is, I don’t mind.” He was sure, new, 
that his trap was in working order, for no one could 
deceive him at the piano — he would recognise Rost: 
at the first chord. 

“Excuse me just a minute, please.” She returned 
presently with the news that Rose would come as 
soon as she could. “Can’t you go to .sleep now?” 
she suggested. 

Allison smiled ironically. How transparent she was ! 
She wanted him to go to sleep and when he awoke, 
she would tell him that Rose had been there, and had 
played, and had just gone. 

“No,” he answered, “I don’t want to go to sleep. 
I want to hear Rose play. ” 

So he waited, persistently wide awake. Sharpened 
by illness and pain, his hearing was phenomenally 
acute; so much so that even a whisper in the next 
room was distinctly audible. He heard the distant 
rumble of wheels, approaching steadily, and wondered 
why the house did not tremble when the carriage 
stopped. He heard the lower door open softly, then 
close, a quick, light step in the living room, the old- 
fashioned piano stool whirling on its rusty axis, then a 
few slow, deep chords prefacing a familiar bit of Chopin 
He turned to the nurse, who sat in her low rocking- 
chair at the window. “ I beg your pardon. I thought 
you were not telling me the truth. ” 

The young woman only smiled in answer. “ Listen I tJ 


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Prom downstairs the music came softly. Rose was 
playing with the exquisite taste and feeling that 
characterised everything she did. She purposely 
avoided the extremes of despair and joy, keeping to the 
safe middle-ground . Living waters murmured through 
the melody, the sea surged and crooned, flying clouds 
went through blue, sunny spaces, and birds sang, 
ever with an unfailing uplift, as of many wings. 

Allison’s calmness insensibly changed, not in degree, 
but in quality, as the piano magically brought before 
him green distances lying fair beneath the warm sun, 
clover-scented meadows and blossoming boughs. 
“Life,” he said to himself; “life more abundant.” 

She drifted from one thing to another, playing 
snatches of old songs, woven together by modulations 
of her own making. At last she paused to think of 
something else, but her fingers remembered, and 
began, almost of their own accord : 



4* • 4*4*4*- 

4*4f3£- 4* 


<V4 — 



LaiwJ 

LUj * 1 

p e legato . 



J.f.i 







“%css tban tbe Dust** 


21 1 


Allison stirred restlessly, as he recalled how he had 
heard it before. He saw the drifted petals of fallen 
roses, the moon-shadow on the dial, hours wrong, the 
spangled cobwebs in the grass and the other spangles, 
changed to faint iridescence in the enchanted light as 
Isabel came toward him and into his open arms. 
Could marble respond to a lover’s passion, could dead 
lips answer with love for love, then Isabel might have 
yielded to him at least a tolerant tenderness. He saw 
her now, alien and apart, like some pale star that 
shone upon a barren waste, but never for him. 

Another phrase, full of love and longing, floated up 
the stairway and entered his room, a guest unbidden. 



He turned to the nurse. “Ask Miss Bernard to 
come up for a few minutes, will you?” 

“Do j^ou think it’s wise?” she temporised. 


212 


©15 IRose a n5 Silver 


Please ask her to come up, ” he said, imperatively. 
‘‘Must I call her myself?” 

So Rose came up, after receiving the customary 
caution not to stay too long and avoid everything that 
might be unpleasant or exciting. 

She stood for a moment in the doorway hesitating. 
Her face was almost as white as her linen gown, but 
her eyes were shining with strange fires. 

“ White Rose,” he said, wearily, “I have been 
through hell.” 

“I know, ” she answered, softly, drawing up a chair 
beside him. “Aunt Francesca and I have wished 
that we might divide it with you and help you 
bear it.” 

He stretched a trembling hand toward her and she 
took it in both her own. They were soft and cool, and 
soothing. 

4 “Thank you for wanting to share it,” he said. 
“Thank you for coming, for playing — for every- 
thing.” 

“Either of us would have come whenever you 
wanted us, night or day.” 

“Suppose it was night, and I’d wanted you to come 
and play to me. Would you have come?” 

“Why, yes. Of course I would!” 

“I didn’t know,” he stammered, “that there was 
so much kindness in the world. I have been very 
lonely since ” 

Her eyes filled and she held his hand more closely. 
“You won’t be lonely any more. I’ll come whenever 
you want me, night or day, to play, to read— or 
anything. Only speak, and I’ll come.” 

“How good you are!” he murmured, gratefully. 
“No, please don’t let go of my hand.” In some in- 


" %C5Q than tbe Bust ” 


213 


explicable fashion strength seemed to flow to him 
from her. 

i“I think you’ll be glad to know,” she said, “how 
sympathetic everybody has been. Strangers stop us 
on the street to ask for you, and people telephone 
every day. Down in the library, there’s a pile of 
letters that would take days to read, and many of 
them have foreign stamps. It makes one feel warm 
around the heart, for it brings the ideal of human 
brotherhood so near. ” 

He sighed and his face looked haggard. The 
brotherhood of man was among the things that did 
not concern him now. The weariness of the ages was 
in every line of his body. 

“I have been ^thinking, ” he went on, after a little, 
11 what a difference one little hour can make, a min- 
ute, even. Once I had everything — youth, health, 
strength a happy home, love, a dear father, and every 
promise of success in my chosen career! Now I’m old 
and broken ; health, strength, and love have been taken 
away in an instant, my father is gone, and my career 
is only an empty memory. I have no violin, and, if I 
had, what use would it be to me without — why Rose, 
I haven’t even fingers to make the notes nor hands to 
hold it.” 

Rose could bear no more. She sprang to her feet 
with arms outstretched, all her love and longing 
swelling into infinite appeal. “Oh Boy!” she cried, 
“ take mine ! Take my hands, for always ! ” 

For a tense instant they faced each other. Her 
breast rose and fell with every quick breath ; her eyes 
met his, then faltered, and the crimson of shame 
mantled her white face. 

“Oh,” she breathed, painfully, and turned away 


214 


©lb IRose anb Stiver 


from him. When she was half way to the door, he 
called to her. * ‘ Rose ! Dear Rose ! * ’ 

She hesitated, her hand upon the knob. “Close 
the door and come back, ” he pleaded. “ Please — oh, 
please!” 

Trembling from head to foot, she obeyed him, but 
her face was pitiful. She could not force herself to 
look at him. “Forgive,” she murmured, “and 
forget.” 

The hand he took in his was cold, but her nearness 
gave him comfort, as never before. His heart vras 
unspeakably tender toward her. 

“Rose,” he went on, softly, “I’ve been too near 
the other world not to have the truth now. Tell me 
what you mean! Make me understand ! ” 

She did not answer, nor even lift her eyes. She 
breathed hard, as though she were in pain. 

“Rose,” he said again, tightening his clasp upon 
the hand she tried to draw away, “did you mean 
that you would be my ” 

“In name,” she interrupted, throwing up her head 
proudly. “Just to help you — that was all. ” 

He drew her hand to his hot lips and kissed it twice. 
“Oh, how divinely kind you are,” he whispered, 
“even to think of stooping to such as I!” 

“Have pity,” she said brokenly, “and let me go.” 

“Pity?” he repeated. “In all the world there is 
none like yours. To think of your being willing to 
sacrifice yourself, through pity of me!” 

The blood came back into her heart by leaps and 
bounds. She had not utterly betrayed herself, then, 
since he translated it thus. 

“Listen,” he was saying. “I cared — terribly, but 
it’s gone, and my heart is empty. It's like an open 


grave, waiting for something that does not come. 
Did you ever care?” 

“Yes, ” she answered, with eyes downcast. 

“Did you care for someone who did not care for 
you?” 

“Yes,” she replied, again. 

“And he never knew?” 

“No. ” The word was almost a whisper. 

“He must have been a brute, not to have cared. 
Was it long ago?” 

“Not very.” 

“Have I ever met him?” 

The suggestion of an ironical smile hovered for a 
moment around her pale lips, then vanished. “No.” 

“I have no right to — to ask his name.” 

“No. What difference does a name make?” 

“None. Could you never bring yourself to care 
for anyone else?” 

“ No, ” she breathed. “ Oh, no ! ” 

“And yet, with your heart as empty as mine you 
still have pity enough to ” 

“To serve you,” she answered. Her eyes met his 
clearly now. “To help you — as your best friend 
might.” 

“Rose, dear Rose! You give me new courage, but 
how can I let you sacrifice yourself for me?” 

“Believe me,” she said diffidently, “there is no 
question of sacrifice. Have you never thought of 
what you might do, that would be even better than 
the career you had planned?” 

“Why, no. What could I do, without ” 

“Write,” she said, with her eyes shining. “Let 
others play what you write. Immortality comes by 
way of the printed page.” 


216 


©R> tRose ant) Silver 


11 1 couldn't,” he returned, doubtfully. “I neve* 
composed anything except two or three little things 
that I never dared to play, even for encores.* * 

“Never say you can’t. Say ‘I must,* and *1 
will.* ** 

“You’re saying them for me. You almost make me 
believe in myself. ** 

“That’s the very best of beginnings, isn’t it?” 

She was quite calm now, outwardly, and she drew 
her hand away. Allison remembered the long, happy 
hours they had spent together before Isabel came into 
his life. Now that she was gone, the old comradeship 
had returned, the sweeter because of long absence. 
Rose had never fretted nor annoyed him ; she seemed 
always to understand. 

“You don’t know how glad I’d be,” he sighed, “to 
feel that I wasn’t quite out of it — that there was 
something in life for me still. I didn’t want to be a 
bit of driftwood on the current of things. ** 

“You’re not going to be — I won’t let you. Haven’t 
you learned that sometimes we have to wait ; that we 
can’t always be going on? Just moor your soul at the 
landing place, and when the hour comes, you’ll swing 
out into the current again. Much of the driftwood is 
only craft that broke away from the landing.” 

He smiled, for her fancy pleased him. An abiding 
sense of companionship crept into his loneliness; his 
isolation seemed to be shared. “And you’ll stay at 
the landing with me,” he whispered, “until the time 
comes to set sail again?” 

“Yes.” 

“And — after the worst that can come — is over, 
we’ll make it right with the world and go abroad 
together?” 


,4 %cs3 than tbe Bust” 


217 


“Yes. ” Her voice was very low now. 

“And we’ll be the best of friends, for always?” 

“Yes — the be6t of friends in all the world.” 

“And you’ll promise me that, if you're ever sorry, 
you’ll come straight and tell me — that you’ll ask me 
to set you free?” 

“I promise.” 

“Then everything is all right between you and 
me?” 

“Yes, but I’m ashamed — bitterly ashamed.” 

“You mustn’t be, for I’m very glad. We’ll try to 
forget the wreckage together. I couldn’t have asked, 
unless I had known about — the other man, and you 
wouldn’t have told me, I know. It wouldn’t have been 
like you to tell me. ” 

There was a knock, the door opened, and the nurse 
came in, watch in hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Bernard, 
but you can come to-morrow if he’s well enough. ” 

“I’ll be well enough,” said Allison, smiling. 

“Of course,” Rose assured him, shaking hands in 
friendly fashion. “Don’t forget that it’s a secret.” 

“ I won’t. Good-bye, Rose. ” 

W T hen she had gone, the nurse studied him furtively, 
from across the room. He had changed in some subtle 
way — he seemed stronger than before. Unless it was 
excitement, to be followed by a reaction, Miss Bernard 
had done him good. The night would prove it 
definitely, one way or the other. 

Allison slept soundly until daybreak, for the first 
time — not stupor, but natural sleep. The nurse began 
to wonder if it was possible that a hand so badly 
crushed and broken could be healed. Hitherto her 
service had been mechanically kind ; she had taken no 
interest because she saw no hope. How wonderful it 


218 


©R> IRose ant) Silver 


would be if that long procession of learned counsellors 
should be mistaken, after all! 

Rose walked home, disdaining the waiting carriage. 
She had forgotten her hat and the sunset lent radiance 
to a face that needed no more. By rare tact and 
kindness, Allison had removed the sting from her 
shame and the burden she had borne so long was 
lifted from her heavy heart. 

She was happier now than she had ever been before 
in her life, but she must hide her joy from the others 
as she had previously hidden her pain — or tried to. 
She knew that Isabel would not see, but Aunt Fran- 
cesca’s eyes were keen and she could not tell even her 
just now. 

How strange it would be to wake in the night, 
without that dull, dead pain! How strange it was to 
feel herself needed, and oh, the joy of serving him! 

She thrilled with the ecstasy of sacrifice; with that 
maternal compassion which is a vital element in 
woman’s love for man. Sublimated beyond passion 
and self-seeking, and asking only the right to give, she 
poured out the treasure of her soul at his feet, though 
her pride demanded that he must never know. 

When she went into the house, light seemed to 
enter the shaded room with her. No one was there, 
but the open piano waited, ready to receive a confi- 
dence. With a laugh that was half a sob of joy, she 
sat down, her fingers readily finding the one thing that 
suited her mood. 

The wild, half savage music rang through the house 
in full, deep chords, but only Rose knew the words, 
which, in her mind, fitted themselves to the melody 
as though she dared to sing them: 


“ Xess tban tbe Bust 


219 


“Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel. 

Less than the rust that never stained thy sword. 

Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord; 

Even less than these. 

** Less than the weed that grows beside thy door, 

Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee, 

Less than the need thou hast in life of me; 

Even less am I. ” 

Upstairs, Isabel yawned lazily, and wondered why 
Rose should play so loud, but Aunt Francesca smiled 
to herself, for she knew that Allison was better and 
that Rose was glad. 


s 


XIX 

Qvct tbe $ar 

As a flower may bloom in a night, joy returned to 
Madame Bernard’s house after long absence. There 
was no outward sign, for Rose was still quiet and self- 
controlled, but her face was a shade less pale and 
there was a tremulous music in her voice. 

Isabel had ceased to limp, but still dwelt upon the 
shock and its lingering effects. She amused herself in 
her own way, reading paper-covered novels, feasting 
upon chocolates, teasing Mr. Boffin, and playing 
solitaire. Madame remarked to Rose that Isabel 
seemed to have a cosmic sense of time. 

The guest never came down-stairs till luncheon was 
announced, and did not trouble herself to make an 
elaborate, or even appropriate toilet. Madame began 
to wonder how long Isabel intended to remain and to 
see the wisdom of the modem fashion of appointing 
the hour of departure in the invitation. 

Yet, as she said to herself rather grimly, she would 
have invited Isabel to remain through the Summer, 
and perhaps, in the early Autumn she might return to 
town of her own accord. Moreover, there appeared 
to be no graceful way of requesting an invited guest 
to leave. 

Though Madame was annoyed by the mere fact of 
Isabel’s presence, she had ceased to distress Rose, who 
220 


Qx>c r tbc 3Bar 


S2I 


dwelt now in a world apart from the others. She 
spent her afternoons at the other house, playing 
softly downstairs, reading to Allison, or talking to him 
of the brilliant future that she insisted was to be 
his. 

Neither of them spoke of the hour in which Rose 
had unwittingly revealed herself, nor did they seem to 
avoid the subject. Allison had taken her for granted, 
on a high plane of pure friendliness, and not for an 
instant did he translate her overpowering impulse as 
anything but womanly pity. 

She practised for an hour or two every morning 
that she might play better in the afternoon, she ran- 
sacked the library for interesting and cheerful things 
to read to him, and she even found a game or two that 
he seemed to enjoy. From Madame Francesca’s 
spotless kitchen came many a dainty dish to tempt his 
capricious appetite, and all the flowers from both 
gardens, daily, made a bower of his room. 

Constantly, too, Rose brought the message of 
hopefulness and good cheer. From her abounding life 
and superb vitality he drew unconscious strength; 
the hidden forces that defy analysis once more exerted 
themselves in his behalf. So far as man is of the earth, 
earthy, by the earth and its fruits may he be healed, 
but the heavenly part of him may be ministered unto 
only by the angels of God. 

His old fear of the darkness had gone and the night- 
light had been taken out into the hall. In the faint 
glow, he could see the objects in his room distinctly, 
during the brief intervals of wakefulness. A flower 
dropped from its vase, a book lying half open, a 
crumpled handkerchief upon his chiffonier, the pervad- 
ing scent of attar of roses and dried petals — all these 


222 


©tt> IRose anfc Slider 


brought him a strange sense of nearness to Rose, as a 
perfume may be distilled from a memory. 

Day by day, Isabel became more remote. He 
thought of her without emotion when he thought of 
her at all, for only women may know the agony of 
love enduring after the foundation upon which it was 
built has been swept away. 

The strange men from distant places came less 
frequently. Days would pass, and bring no word. 
The country doctor who had first been called stopped 
occasionally when time permitted, and his faithful 
old horse needed a little rest, but he only shook his 
head. He admitted to the nurse that he was greatly 
surprised because the inevitable operation had not 
yet become imperative. 

Colonel Kent seemed to have been lost for almost a 
week. During that time no word had been received 
from him and Madame’s daily bulletin: “No change 
for the worse,” had been returned, marked “not 
found. ” She was vaguely troubled and uneasy, fear- 
ing that something might have happened to him, but 
forebore to speak of her fears. 

One morning, while Allison was still asleep, the 
nurse wakened him gently. ‘ ‘ A new man, Mr. Allison ; 
can you see him now?” 

“I don’t care,” he replied. “Bring him in.” 

The newcomer was a young man — one would have 
guessed that the ink was scarcely dry on his diploma. 
He had a determined mouth, a square chin, kind eyes, 
and the buoyant youthful courage that, by itself, 
carries one far upon any chosen path. 

He smiled at Allison and Allison smiled back at him, 
in friendly fashion. “Now,” said the young man, 
“let’s see.” 


<§»v>er tbe 3Bav 


223 


His big fingers were astonishingly gentle, they 
worked with marvellous dexterity, and, for the first 
time, the dreaded examination was almost painless. 
He asked innumerable questions both of Allison and 
the nurse, and wanted to know who had been there 
previously. 

The nurse had kept no record, but she knew some 
of the men, and mentioned their names — names to 
conjure with in the professional world. Even the two 
great Germans had said it was of no use. 

The young man wrinkled his brows in deep thought. 
“What have you been using?” he inquired, of the 
nurse. 

‘ ‘ Everything. Come here. ” 

She led him into the next room, where a formidable 
array of bottles and boxes almost covered a large 
table. He looked them all over, carefully, scrutinising 
the names on the druggist’s labels, sniffing here and 
there, occasionally holding some one bottle to the 
light, and finally, out of sheer youthful curiosity, 
counting them. 

Then he laughed — a cheery, hearty laugh that woke 
long-sleeping echoes in the old house and made Allison 
smile, in the next room. “It seems,” he commented, 
“ that a doctor has to leave a prescription as other men 
leave cards — just as a polite reminder of the call.” 

“What shall I do with them?” 

“Dump ’em all out — I don’t care. Or, wait a 
minute; there’s no rush.” 

He went back to Allison. “ I see you’ve got quite a 
drug store here. Are you particularly attached to any 
special concoction?” 

“Indeed I’m not. Most of ’em have hurt — 
sinfully.” 


224 


©U> tfiosc anfc SUx>er 


“ I don’t know that anything has to be painful or 
disagreeable in order to be healing,” remarked the 
young man, thoughtfully. "Would you like to throw 
'em all out of the window^?” 

" I certainly would. ” 

"All right — that’ll be good business.” He swung 
Allison’s bed around so that his right arm rested easily 
on the window sill, requested the nurse to wheel the 
drug store within easy reach, and rapidly uncorked 
bottle after bottle with his own hands. 

"Now then, get busy.” 

He sat by, smiling, while Allison poured the varying 
contents of the drug store on the ground below and 
listened for the sound of breaking glass when the 
bottle swiftly followed the last gurgling drop. When 
all had been disposed of, the nurse took out the table, 
and the young man smiled expansively at Allison. 

"Feel better?” 

"I — think so.” 

"Good. Now, look here. How much does your 
hand mean to you?” 

"How much does it mean?” repeated Allison, piti- 
fully. " It means life, career — everything. ” 

"Enough to make a fight for it then, I take it. ” 

Dull colour surged by waves into Allison’s white 
face. "What do you mean?” he asked, in a broken 
voice. "Tell me what you mean ! ’ ’ 

But the young man was removing his coat. "Hot 
day,” he was saying, "and the young lady won’t 
mind my negligee as long as the braces don’t show. 
Strange — how women hate nice new braces. Say,” 
he said to the nurse as she returned, "get somebody 
to go up to the station and bring down my trunk, will 
you?” 


©ver t be Bar 


223 


“Trank?” echoed Allison. 

“Sure, ” smiled the young man. “ My instructions 
were to stay if I saw any hope, so I brought along my 
trunk. I’m always looking for a chance to hope, and 
I’ve discovered that it’s one of the very best ways to 
find it. ” 

The nurse had hastened away upon her errand. 
The new element in the atmosphere of the sick room 
had subtly affected her, also. 

“Don’t fence,” Allison was saying, huskily. “I’ve 
asked so much that I’ve quit asking.” 

The young man nodded complete understanding. 
“I know. The mossbacks sit around and look wise, 
and expect to work miracles on a patient who doesn’t 
know what they’re doing and finally gets the impres- 
sion that he isn’t considered fit to know. Far be it 
from me to disparage the pioneers of our noble profes- 
sion, but I’m modest enough to admit that I need 
help, and the best help, every time, comes from the 
patient himself. ” 

He drew up his chair beside the bed and sat down. 
Allison’s eager eyes did not swerve from his face. 

“Mind you,” he went on, “I don’t promise any- 
thing — I can’t, conscientiously. In getting a carriage 
out of the mud, more depends upon the horse than on 
the driver. Nature will have to do the work — I can’t. 
All I can do is to guide her gently. If she’s pushed, she 
gets balky. Maybe there’s something ahead of her 
that I don’t see, and there’s no use spurring her ahead 
when she’s got to stop and get her breath before she 
can go up hill. 

“That hand can’t heal itself without good blood to 
draw upon, and good material to make bone and nerve 
of, so we’ll begin to stoke up, gradually, and mean- 
15 


826 


©R> IRose ant) Silver 


while, I’ll camp right here and see what’s doing. And 
if you can bring yourself to sort of — well, sing at your 
work, you know, it’s going to make the job a lot 
easier. ” 

Allison drew a long breath of relief. “You give me 
hope,” he said. 

“ Sure, ” returned the young man, with an infectious 
laugh. “A young surgeon never has much else when 
he starts, nor for some time to come. Want to sit 
up?” 

“Why,” Allison breathed, in astonishment, “I 
can’t.” 

“Who said so?” 

“Everybody. They all said I must lie perfectly 
still.” 

“Of course,” mused the young man, aloud, “blood 
may move around all right of itself, and then again, it 
may not. Wouldn’t do any harm to stir it up a bit 
and remind the red corpuscles not to loaf on the 
job.” 

The nurse came back, to say that the trunk would 
be up immediately. 

“Good. Can I have a bunk in the next room?” 
Without waiting for her answer, he requested raw 
eggs and milk, beaten up with a little cream and 
sherry. 

While Allison was drinking it, he moved a big easy 
chair up near the window, opened every shutter wide, 
and let the hot sun stream into the room. He ex- 
peditiously made a sling for the injured hand, slipped 
it painlessly into place, put a strong arm under Al- 
lison’s shoulders, and lifted him to a sitting posture 
on the edge of the bed. “Now then, forward, march! 
Just lean on me. ” 


©per tbe JSar 


227 


Muscles long unused trembled under the strain but 
finally he made the harbour of the easy chair, gasping 
for breath. “Good,” said the young man. “At this 
rate, we’ll soon have clothes on us and be outdoors.” 

“Really?” asked Allison, scarcely daring to believe 
his ears. 

“Sure,” replied the marvellous young man, con- 
fidently. “What’s the use of keeping a whole body 
in the house on account of one hand? I’m going to tell 
you just one thing more, then we’ll quit talking shop 
and proceed to politics or anything else you like. 

“I knew a man once who was a trapeze performer 
in a circus and he was training his son in the same 
lofty profession. The boy insisted that he couldn’t 
do it, and finally the man said to him: 'Look here, 
kid, if you’ll put your heart over the bar, your body 
will follow all right,’ and sure enough it did. Now 
you get your heart over the bar, and trust your hand 
to follow. Get the idea?” 

The sound of the piano below chimed in with the 
answer. A rippling, laughing melody danced up the 
stairs and into the room. The young man listened a 
moment, then asked, “Who?” 

“A friend of mine — my very dearest friend.” 

“More good business. I think I’ll go down and 
talk to her. What’s her name?” 

“Rose.” 

“What’s the rest of it? I can’t start in that way, 
you know. Bad form.” 

“Bernard — Rose Bernard.” 

As quickly and silently as he did everything else, 
the young man went down-stairs, and the piano 
stopped, but only for a moment, as he requested her, 
with an airy wave of the hand, not to mind him. 


228 


©16 IRose a nb Silver 


When she finished the old song she was playing, he 
called her by name, introduced himself, and invited 
her out into the garden, because, as he said, “ walls not 
only have ears, but telephones.” 

“Say,” he began, by way of graceful preliminary, 
“you look to me as though you had sense. ” 

“Thank you,” she replied, demurely. 

“Sense,” he resumed, “is lamentably scarce, espe- 
cially the variety misnamed common — or even horse. 
I’m no mental healer, nor anything of that sort, you 
know, but it’s reasonable to suppose that if the mind 
can control the body, after a fashion, when the body is 
well, it’s entitled to some show when the body isn’t 
well, don’t you think so?” 

Rose assented, though she did not quite grasp 
what he said. His all-pervading breeziness affected 
her much as it had Allison. 

“Now,” he continued, “I’m not unprofessional 
enough to knock anybody, but I gather that there’s 
been a procession of undertakers down here making 
that poor chap upstairs think there’s no chance. I’m 
not saying that there is, but there’s no reason why we 
shouldn’t trot along until we have to stop. It isn’t 
necessary to amputate just yet, and until it is neces- 
sary, there’s nothing to hinder us from working like 
the devil to save him from it, is there?” 

“Surely not.” 

“All right. Are you in on it?” 

“I’m ‘in,’ ” replied Rose, slowly, “on anything 
and everything that human power can do, day or 
night, until we come to the last ditch.” 

“Good for you. I’ll appoint you first lieutenant. 
I guess 'that nurse is all right, though she doesn’t 
seem to be unduly optimistic. ” 


©vet t be JSar 


629 


“ She’s had nothing to make her so. Everything 
has been discouraging so far. ” 

“Plenty of discouragement in the world,” he ob- 
served, “handed out free of charge, without paying 
people to bring it into the house when you’re peevish. ” 
“Very true,” she answered, then her eyes filled. 
“Oh,” she breathed, with white lips, “if you can — if 
you only can ” 

“We’ll have a try for it,” he said, then continued, 
kindly: “No salt water upstairs, you know.” 

“I know,” she sighed, wiping her eyes. 

“ Then 'on with the dance — let joy be unconfined. ’ ” 
Rose obediently went back to the piano. The 
arrival of the trunk and the composition of a hopeful 
telegram to Colonel Kent occupied the resourceful 
visitor for ten or fifteen minutes. Then he went back 
to his patient, who had already begun to miss him. 

“You forgot to tell me your name,” Allison 
suggested. 

“Sure enough. Call me Jack, or Doctor Jack, 
when I’m not here and have to be called. ” 

“But, as you said yourself a few minutes ago, I 
can’t begin that way. What’s the rest of it?” 

“If you’ll listen,” responded the young man, 
solemnly, “I will unfold before your eyes the one blot 
upon the ’scutcheon of my promising career. My full 
name is Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer. ” 

“What — how — I mean — excuse me,” stammered 
Allison. 

The young man laughed joyously. “You can search 
me,” he answered, with a shrug. “The gods must 
have been in a sardonic mood about the time I 
arrived to gladden this sorrowful sphere. I’ve never 
used more of it than I could help, and everybody called 


©R> ffiose anfc Stiver 


<230 

me ‘Jem* until I went to college, the initials making a 
shorter and more agreeable name. But before I’d 
been there a week, I was ‘Jemima’ or ‘Aunt Jemima’ 
to the whole class. So I changed it myself, though it 
took a thrashing to make two or three of ’em remem- 
ber that my name was Jack. ” 

“How did you happen to come here?” queried 
Allison, without much interest. 

“The man who was down here on the fifth sent me. 
He told me about you and suggested that my existence 
might be less wearing if I had something to do. He 
just passed along his instructions and faded gracefully 
out of sight, saying: ‘You’d better go, Middlekauffer, 
as your business seems to be the impossible,’ so I 
packed up and took the first train.” 

“What did he mean by saying that your business 
was impossible?” 

“Not impossible, but the impossible. Good Heav- 
ens, man, don’t get things mixed like that! All he 
meant was that such small reputation as I have been 
able to acquire was earned by doing jobs that the 
other fellows shirked. I’m ambidextrous,” he added, 
modestly, “and I guess that helps some. Let’s play 
piquet.” 

When Rose came up, an hour or so later,. they were 
absorbed in their game, and did not see her until she 
spoke. She was overjoyed to see Allison sitting up, 
but, observing that she was not especially needed, 
invented a plausible errand and said good-bye, 
promising to come the next day. 

“Nice girl,” remarked Doctor Jack, shuffling the 
cards for Allison. “ Mighty nice girl. ” 

“My future wife,” answered Allison, proudly, 
forgetting his promise. 


Qvcv tbe JBar 


231 


“More good business. You’d be a brute if you 
didn’t save that hand for her. She’s entitled to the 
best that you can give her.” 

“And she shall have it,” returned Allison. 

Doctor Jack’s quick ears noted a new determination 
in the voice, that only a few hours before had been 
weak and wavering, and he nodded his satisfaction 
across the card table. 

That night, while Allison slept soundly, and the 
nurse also, having been told that she was off duty 
until called, the young man recklessly burned gas in 
the next room, with pencil and paper before him. 
First, he carefully considered the man with whom he 
had to deal, then mapped out a line of treatment, 
complete to the last detail. 

“There,” he said to himself, “by that we stand or 
fall.” 

The clocks struck three, but the young man still sat 
there, oblivious to his surroundings, or to the fact that 
even strong and healthy people occasionally need a 
little sleep. At last a smile lighted up his face. 
“What fun it would be, ” he thought, “for him to give 
a special concert, and invite every blessed mossback 
who said ‘impossible!’ It wouldn’t please me or any- 
thing, would it, to stand at the door and see ’em come 
in? Oh, no!” 

There was a stir in the next room, and Allison called 
him, softly. 

“Yes?” It w r as only a word, but the tone, as 
always, was vibrant with good cheer. 

“I just wanted to tell you,” Allison said, “that my 
heart is over the bar. ” 

In the dark, the two men’s hands met. “More 
good business,” commented Doctor Jack. “Just 




©R> *ff?ose ant) Stiver 


remember what somebody said of Columbus: ‘One 
day, with life and hope and heart, is time enough to 
find a world.’ Go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the 
morning.” 

“All right,” Allison returned, but he did not sleep, 
even after certain low sounds usually associated with 
comfortable slumber came from the doctor’s room. 
He lay there, waiting happily, while from far, mys- 
terious sources, life streamed into him, as the sap 
rises into the trees at the call of Spring. Across the 
despairing darkness, a signal had been flashed to him, 
and he was answering it, in every fibre of body and 
soul. 


XX 


•Risen tcom tbe B)ea& 

Colonel Kent, in a distant structure which, by 
courtesy, was called “the hotel/’ had pushed away 
his breakfast untasted, save for a small portion of the 
nondescript fluid the frowsy waitress called “coffee.” 
He had been delayed, missed his train at the junction 
point, and, fretting with impatience, had been obliged 
to pass the night there. 

He had wared to Madame Francesca the night 
before, but, as yet, had received no answer. He had 
personally consulted every surgeon of prominence in 
the surrounding country, and all who would not say 
flatly, without further information than he could give 
them, that there was no chance, had been asked to go 
and see for themselves. 

One by one, their reports came back to him, 
unanimously hopeless. Heartsick and discouraged, 
he rallied from each disappointment, only to face 
defeat again. He had spent weeks in fruitless journey- 
ing, followed up every clue that presented itself, 
waited days at hospitals for chiefs of staff, and made 
the dreary round of newspaper offlces, where know- 
ledge of every conceivable subject is supposedly upon 
file for the asking. 

One enterprising editor, too modem to be swayed 
by ordinary human instincts, had turned the Colonel 
233 


©R> IRose ant> Silvct 


*34 

over to the star reporter — a young man with eyes like 
Allison’s. By well-timed questions and sympathetic 
offers of assistance, he dragged the whole story of his 
wanderings from the unsuspecting old soldier. 

It made a double page in the Sunday edition, in- 
cluding the illustrations — a “human interest” story 
of unquestionable value, introduced by a screaming 
headline in red: “Old Soldier on the March to Save 
Son. Violinist about to Lose Hand.” 

When the Colonel saw it, his eyes filled so that he 
could not see the words that danced through the mist, 
and the paper trembled from his hands to the floor. 
He was too nearly heartbroken to be angry, and too 
deeply hurt to take heed of the last stab. 

No word reached him until late at night, when he 
arrived at the metropolitan hotel that he had made his 
headquarters. When he registered, two telegrams 
were handed to him, and he tore them open eagerly. 
The first was from Madame Francesca: 

“Slight change for the better. New man gives 
hope. Better return at once. ” 

The second one was wholly characteristic: 

“WiUing to take chance. Am camping on job. 
Come home. ” It was signed : “ J. E. Middlekauffer. ” 
When he got to his room, the Colonel sat down to 
think. He knew no one of that name — had never even 
heard it before. Perhaps Francesca — it would have 
been like her, to work with him and say nothing until 
she had something hopeful to say. 

His heart warmed toward her, then he forgot her 
entirely in a sudden realisation of the vast meaning 
of the two bits of yellow paper. Why, it was hope; it 
was a fighting chance presenting itself where hitherto 
had been only despair! He could scarcely believe it. 


IRfsen from tbe 2>eab 


«35 


He took the two telegrams closer to the light, and 
read the blessed words over and over again, then, 
trembling with weakness and something more, tottered 
back to his chair. 

Until then, he had not known how weary he was, 
nor how the long weeks of anxiety and fruitless effort 
had racked him to the soul. As one may bear a burden 
bravely, yet faint the moment it is lifted, his strength 
failed him in the very hour that he had no need of it. 
He sat there for a long time before he was able to shut 
off the light and creep into bed, with his tear- wet 
cheek pillowed upon one telegram, and a wrinkled 
hand closely clasping the other, as though holding 
fast to the message meant the keeping of the hope it 
brought. 

Utterly exhausted, he slept ilntil noon. When he 
woke, it was with the feeling that something vitally 
important had happened. He could not remember 
what it was until he heard the rustling of paper and 
saw the two telegrams. He read them once more, 
in the clear light of day, fearing to find the message 
but a fantasy of the night. To his unbounded relief, 
it was still there — no dream of water to the man 
dying of thirst,’ but a living reality that sunlight 
did not change. 

“Thank God,” he cried aloud, sobbing for very 
joy, “Thank God!” 

Meanwhile, the Resourceful One had shown the 
nurse how to cut a sleeve out of one of Allison’s old 
coats, and open the under-arm seam. Having done 
this, she was requested to treat a negligee shirt in the 
same way. Then the village barber was sent for, and 
instructed to do his utmost. 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


^36 

“Funny,” remarked Doctor Jack, pensively, “that 
nobody has thought of doing that before. If I hadn’t 
come just as I did, you’d soon have looked like a 
chimpanzee, and, eventually, you’d have been beyond 
the reach of anything but a lawn-mower. They 
didn’t even think to braid your hair and tie it with a 
blue ribbon.” 

The nurse laughed; so did Allison, but the pensive 
expression of the young man’s face did not change. 

“I’ve had occasion lately,” he continued, “to ob- 
serve the powerful tonic effect of clothes. A woman 
patient told me once that the moral support afforded 
by a well-fitting corset was inconceivable to the mind 
of a mere man. She said that a corset is to a woman 
what a hat is to a man— it prepares for any emergency, 
enables one to meet Ute on equal terms, and even to 
face a rebellious cook or janitor with ‘that repose 
which marks the caste of Vere de Vere.’ ” 

“I’ve often wondered,” returned Allison, “why I 
felt so much — well, so much more adequate with my 
hat on. ” 

“Clear case of inherited instincts. The wild dog 
used to make himself a smooth bed in the rushes of 
long grass by turning around several times upon the 
selected spot. Consequently, the modem dog has to 
do the same stunt before he can go to sleep. The hat 
is a modification of the helmet, which always had to be 
worn outside the house, in the days when hold-ups 
and murders were even more frequent than now, and 
the desire for a walking-stick comes from the old 
fashion of carrying a spear or a sword. If a man took 
off his helmet, it was equivalent to saying: ‘In the 
presence of my friend, I am safe. ’ When he takes off 
his hat to a lady now, he merely means: ‘You’re not a 


IRisen from tbe Beafc 


®37 


voter.* You’ll notice that in any gathering of men, 
helmets are still worn. ” 

So he chattered, with apparent unconcern, but, none 
the less, he was keenly watching his patient. With 
tact that would have done credit to a diplomat, 
he kept the conversation in agreeable channels. By 
noon, Allison had his clothes on, the coat being pinned 
under the left arm with two safety pins that did not 
show, and was out upon an upper veranda. 

Doctor Jack encouraged him to walk whenever he 
felt that he could, even though it was only to the 
other end of the veranda and back to his chair. Some- 
what to his astonishment, Allison began to feel 
better. 

“I believe you’re a miracle- worker, ” he said. 
“Two days ago, I was in bed, with neither strength, 
ambition, nor hope. Now I’ve got all three. ” 

“No miracle, ” replied the other modestly. “ Merely 
sense. ” 

That afternoon the Crosby twins telephoned to 
know whether they might call, and the nurse brought 
the query upstairs. “If they’re amusing,” said the 
Doctor, “let ’em come.” 

Allison replied that the twins had been highly 
amusing — until they ran “The Yellow Peril” over his 
left hand. “Poor little devils,” he mused; “they’ve 
got something on their minds. ” 

“Mighty lucky for you that it wasn’t a macadam- 
ised boulevard instead of a sandy country road,” 
observed the Doctor. “The softness underneath has 
given us a doubt to work on.” 

“How so?” 

“It’s easier to crush anything on a hard surface 
than it is on a pillow, isn’t it?” 


«3B 


©ID IRose anD Silver 


“ Of course — I hadn’t thought of that. If there had 
been more sand •” 

“ I look to you to furnish that, ” returned the other 
with a quick twist of meaning. “You’ve got plenty 
of sand, if you have half a chance to show it. ” 

“How long — when do you think you’ll know?” 
Allison asked, half afraid of the answer. 

“If I knew, I’d be glad to tell you, but I don’t. 
I’ve found out that it’s easier to say ‘ I don’t know ’ 
straight out in plain English than it is to side-track. 
It used to be bad form, professionally, to admit 
ignorance, but it isn’t now. People soon find it out 
and you might as well tell ’em at the start. You just 
go on and keep the fuel bins well supplied and the red 
corpuscles busy and pretty soon we’ll see what’s 
doing.” 

The twins were late in coming, because they had 
had a long discussion as to the propriety of wearing 
their sable garments. Romeo, disliking the trouble of 
changing, argued that Allison ought to see that their 
%• grief was sincere. Juliet insisted that the sight would 
prove depressing. 

At the end of a lively hour, they compromised 
upon white, which was worn by people in mourning 
and was not depressing. Juliet denned a muslin 
gown and Romeo put on his tennis flannels, which 
happened to be clean. As they took pains to walk 
upon the grass and avoid the dusty places, they were 
comparatively fresh when they arrived, though very 
warm from the long walk. 

Both had inexpressibly dreaded seeing Allison, yet 
the reality lacked the anticipated terror, as often 
happens. They liked Doctor Jack immensely from 
the start and were greatly relieved to see Allison up 


TRtsen from tbe Beab 


239 


and outdoors, instead of lying in a darkened 
room. 

Almost before they knew it, they were describing 
their sacrificial rites and their repentance, with a 
wealth of detail that left nothing to be desired. 
Doctor Jack was suddenly afflicted with a very bad 
cough, but he kept his back to them and used his 
handkerchief a great deal. Even Allison was amused 
by their austere young faces and the earnest devotion 
with which they had performed their penance. 

“We’ve had your car fixed,” said Romeo. “It’s 
all right now.” 

“We’ve paid the bill,” added Juliet. 

“We want to pay everything,” Romeo continued. 

“Everything,” she echoed. 

“I don’t know that I want the car,” Allison an- 
swered, kindly. “ If I had been a good driver, I could 
have backed into the turn before you got there and 
let you whiz by. I’m sorry yours is burned. Won’t 
vou take mine?” 

“No,” answered Romeo, with finality. 

“We don’t deserve even to ride in one,” Juliet 
remarked. “We ought to have to walk all the rest of 
our lives.” 

“You people make me tired,” interrupted Doctor 
Jack. “Just because you’ve been mixed up in an 
accident, you’re about to get yourselves locoed, as 
they say out West, on the subject of automobiles. 
By careful cultivation, you could learn to shy at a 
baby carriage and throw a fit at the sight of a wheel- 
barrow. The time to nip that is right at the start. ” 

“How would you do it?” queried Allison. His 
heart was heavy with dread of all automobiles, past, 
present, and to come. 


C4° 


®lb IRoae anb Silx>er 


“ Same way they break a colt. Get him used to the 
harness, then to shafts, and so on. Now, I can run 
any car that ever was built — make it stand on its 
hind wheels if I want to and roll through a crowd 
without making anybody even wink faster. I think 
I’ll go out and get that one and take the whole bunch 
of you out for a cure. ” 

Juliet was listening attentively, with her blue eyes 
wide open and her scarlet lips parted. Doctor Jack 
was subtly conscious of a new sensation. 

“ I see,” she said. “Romie made me hold snakes 
by their tails until I wasn’t afraid of ’em, and made 
me kill mice and even rats. Only sissy girls are afraid 
of snakes and rats. And just because we were both 
afraid to go by the graveyard at night, we made our- 
selves do it. We can walk through it now, even if 
there isn’t any moon, and never dodge a single 
tombstone. ” 

“ Was it hard to learn to do it?” asked the doctor. 
If he was amused, he did not show it now. 

“No, ” Juliet answered, “because just before we did 
it, we read about it’s being called * God’s Acre. ’ So I 
told Romie that God must be there as much or more 
than He was anywhere else, so how could we be 
afraid?” 

“After you once get it into your head that God is 
everywhere,” added Romeo, “you can’t be afraid 
because there’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

The simple, child-like faith appealed to both men 
strongly. Allison was much surprised, for he had 
not imagined that there was a serious side to the 
twins. 

“Will you forgive us?” asked Juliet, humbly. 

“Please,” added Romeo. 


TRtsen from tbe Beat) 


* 4 * 

“With all my heart,” Allison responded, readily. 
“I’ve never thought there was anything to forgive.” 

“Then our sacrifice is over,” cried Juliet, joyously. 

“Yes,” her brother agreed, with a wistful expres- 
sion on his face, “and to-night we can have something 
to eat. ” 

The twins never lingered long after the object of a 
visit was accomplished, so they rose almost im- 
mediately to take their departure. “Cards, Romie,” 
Juliet suggested, in an audible whisper. 

Romeo took a black-bordered envelope from an 
inner pocket and gravely extended a card to each. 
Then they bowed themselves out, resisting with 
difficulty the temptation to slide down the banister 
instead of going down-stairs two steps at a time. 

Doctor Jack’s mobile face had assumed an entirely 
new expression. He put away the card inscribed The 
Crosby Twins as though it were an article of great 
value, then leaned out over the veranda railing to 
catch a glimpse of the two flying figures in white. 

“Upon my word!” he exclaimed. 

Allison laughed aloud. “You’re not disappointed 
in the twins, are you?” 

“If I were going to be run over,” remarked the 
Doctor, ignoring the question, “I believe I’d choose 
them to do it. Think of the little pagans burning 
their car and repenting in sackcloth and ashes, not to 
mention shooting the dogs and living upon penitential 
fare.” 

“Poor kids,” Allison said, with a sigh. 

“Tell me about ’em,” pleaded Doctor Jack. “Tell 
me everything you know about ’em, especially 
Juliet.” 

“I don’t know T much,” replied the other, “for I 


16 


©tt> IRose anfc Silver 


642 

came back here only a few months ago, and when I 
went abroad, they were merely enfants terribles im- 
perfectly controlled by a pair of doting parents.” 

However, he gladly told what he knew of the varied 
exploits of the twins, and his eager listener absorbed 
every word. At length when Allison could think of no 
more, and the afternoon shadows grew long, they 
went in. 

Consigning his patient to the care of the nurse, the 
Doctor went down into the garden, to walk back and 
forth upon the long paths, gaze, open-mouthed, down 
the road, and moon, like the veriest schoolboy, over 
Juliet’s blue eyes. 

Her pagan simplicity, her frank boyishness, and her 
absolute unconsciousness of self, appealed to him 
irresistibly. “The dear kid,” he said to himself, 
fondly; “the blessed little kid! Wonder how old she 
is!” 

Then he remembered that Allison had told him the 
twins were almost twenty-one, but Juliet seemed 
absurdly young for her years. “The world will take 
her,” he sighed to himself, “and change her in a little 
while so even her own brother w r on’t know her. She’ll 
lace, and wear high heels and follow the latest fashion 
whether it suits her or not, and touch up her pretty 
cheeks with rouge, twist her hair into impossi- 
ble coiffures, and learn all the wicked ways of the 
world.” 

The wavy masses of tawny hair, the innocent blue 
eyes, as wide and appealing as a child’s, the clear, 
rosy skin, and the parted scarlet lips — all these would 
soon be spoiled by the thousand deceits of fashion. 

“And I can’t help it,” he thought, sadly. Then 
his face brightened. “By George,” he said aloud, 


TRisen from tbe £>eao 


243 


“I’m only twenty-eight — wonder if the kid could 
learn to stand me around the house.” He laughed, 
from sheer joy. “I'll have a try for her,” he con- 
tinued to himself. “ Me for Juliet, and, if the gods are 
kind, Juliet for me!” 

His reflections were interrupted by the arrival of 
the station hack. He instantly surmised that the man 
who hurried toward the house was Colonel Kent, and, 
on the veranda, intercepted him. 

“Colonel Kent?” 

“Yes. Doctor ? 

“ Middlekauifer, for purposes of introduction. For 
purposes of conversation, * Doctor Jack,’ or just plain 
‘Jack.* Never cared much for handles to names. 
You got my wire?” 

“ Yes . Who sent you here ? ’ ’ 

“Forbes. Down here on the fifth. Met him out 
in the next State, at an operation. He told me to 
come, as my business was the impossible. Told me 
you’d stand for it, don’t you know, and all that sort of 
thing?” 

“I’m very glad. How is he ? ” 

“Doing very nicely, all things considered.” 

“Is there a chance?” the Colonel cried eagerly; 
“a real chance?” 

“My dear man, until amputation is the only thing 
to be done, there’s always a chance. Personally, I’m 
very hopeful, though I’ve been called a dreamer more 
than once. But we’ve got him chirked up a lot, and 
he’s getting his nerve back, and this morning I thought 
I detected a slight improvement, though I was afraid 
to tell him so. We’ve all got to work for him and work 
like the devil at that. ” 

“If work will do it ” 


244 


©lb IRose anb Stiver 


“Nothing worth while is ever done without work. 
Go up and see him. ” 

At the sound of a familiar step upon the stair 
Allison turned deathly white. He waited, scarcely 
daring to breathe, until the half-closed door opened* 
and his father stood before him, smiling in welcome. 
Allison sprang forward, unbelieving, until his hand 
touched his father’s, not cold, as though he had risen 
from the grave, but warmly human and alive. 

“Lad, dear lad! I’ve come back at last!” 

Allison’s answering cry of joy fairly rang through 
the house. “Dad! Oh, Dad! I thought you were 
dead!” 


XXI 


5ave&— an& Host 

Alternately possessed by hope and doubt, the 
young surgeon worked during the weeks that followed 
as he had never worked before. He kept his doubt to 
himself, however, and passed on his hope to the others 
when he could do so conscientiously. Allison had 
ceased to ask questions, but eagerly watched the 
Doctor’s face. He knew, without being told, just 
when the outlook was dubious and when it was 
encouraging. 

The Doctor did not permit either Rose or Colonel 
Kent to hope too much. Both were with Allison 
constantly, and Madame drove over three or four 
times a week. Gradually a normal atmosphere was 
established, and, without apparent effort, they kept 
Allison occupied and amused. 

It seemed only natural and right that Rose should 
be there, and both Allison and his father had come 
to depend upon her, in a way, as though she were the 
head of the household. The servants came to her for 
orders, people who came to inquire for Allison asked 
for her, and she saved the Colonel from many a 
lonely evening after Allison had said good-night and 
the Doctor had gone out for a long walk as he said, 
41 to clear the cobwebs from his brain.” 

Because of Isabel, whom he felt that he could not 
245 .. 


046 


©U> IRose anb Silver 


meet, the Colonel did not go over to Bernard’s. Alli- 
son had not alluded to her in any way, but Madame 
had told the Colonel at the first opportunity. He had 
said, quietly: “A small gain for so great a loss,” and 
made no further comment, yet it was evident that he 
was relieved. 

Rose and Allison were back upon their old friendly 
footing, to all intents and purposes. Never by word or 
look did Rose betray herself; never by the faintest 
hint did Allison suggest that their relation to each 
other had in any way been changed. He was frankly 
glad to have her with him, urged her to come earlier 
and to stay later, and gratefully accepted every 
kindness she offered. 

Perhaps he had forgotten — Rose rather thought he 
had, but her self-revelation stood before her always 
like a vivid, scarlet hour in a procession of grey days. 
Yet the sting and shame of it were curiously absent, 
for nothing could exceed the gentle courtesy and 
deference that Allison instinctively accorded her. 
He saw her always as a thing apart; a goddess who, 
through divine pity, had stooped for an instant to be 
a woman — and had swiftly returned to her pedestal. 

Sustained by the joy of service, Rose asked no more. 
Only to plan little surprises for him, to anticipate every 
unspoken wish, to keep him cheery and hopeful, to 
read or play to him without being asked — these things 
were as the life-blood to her heart. 

She had blossomed, too, into a new beauty. The 
forty years had put lines of silver into her hair, but 
had been powerless to do more. Her lovely face, 
where the colour came and went, the fleeting dimple 
at the comer of her mouth and the crimson curve of 
her lips were eloquent with the finer, more subtle 


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247 


charm of maturity. Her shining eyes literally trans- 
figured her. In their dark depths was a mysterious 
exaltation, as from some secret, holy rapture too great 
for words. 

Allison saw and felt it, yet did not know what it 
was. Once at sunset, when they were talking idly of 
other things, he tried to express it. 

“I don’t know what it is, Rose, but Ihere’s some- 
thing about you lately that makes me feel — well, as 
though I were in a church at an Easter service. The 
sun through the stained-glass window, the blended 
fragrance of incense and lilies, and the harp and organ 
playing the Intermezzo from Cavalleria — all that sort 
of thing, don’t you know?” 

"Why shouldn’t your best friend be glad,” she had 
answered gently, “when you have come to your own 
Easter — your rising from the dead?” 

The dull colour surged into his face, then retreated 
in waves. “If you can be as glad as that,” he re- 
turned, clearing his throat, “ I’d be a brute ever to let 
myself be discouraged again.” 

That night, during a wakeful hour, his thoughts 
went back to Isabel. For the first time, he saw the 
affair in its true light — a brief, mad infatuation. He 
had responded to Isabel’s youth and beaut} 7, and an 
old moonlit garden full of roses much as his violin 
answered to his touch upon the strings. “Had an- 
swered,” he corrected himself, trying not to flinch at 
the thought. 

Even if his hand should heal, it was scarcely possible 
that he would ever play again, and he knew, as well as 
anyone, what brilliant promise the future had held 
for him. He remembered how wisely he had been 
trained from the very beginning; how Aunt Francesca 


248 


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had insisted upon mathematics, Latin, and chemistry, 
as well as literature, history, and modern languages. 

He had protested to her only once. She had 
replied kindly, but firmly, that while broad culture 
and liberal education might not, in itself, create an 
artist, yet it could not possibly injure one. Since 
then, he had seen precocious children, developed in 
one line at the expense of all others, fail ignominiously 
in maturity because there was no foundation. The 
Child Wonder who had thrilled all Europe at nine, 
by his unnatural mastery of the violin, was playing 
in an orchestra in a Paris cafd, where one of the 
numerous boy sopranos was the head waiter. 

How disappointed Aunt Francesca must be, even 
though she had too much self-control to show it! 
And his father! Allison swallowed a lump in his 
throat. After a lifetime of self-sacrificing devotion, 
the Colonel had seen all his efforts fail, but he had 
taken the blow standing, like the soldier that he was. 
In vain, many a time, Allison had wished that some of 
his father’s fine courage might have been transmitted 
to him. 

And Rose — dear Rose! How persistently she held 
the new way open before him; how steadily she in- 
sisted that the creative impulse was higher than 
interpretative skill! How often she had reminded 
him of Carlyle’s stirring call: “Produce, produce! 
Though it be but the merest fraction of a fragment, 
produce it, in God’s name ! ” He had noticed that the 
materials for composition were always close at hand, 
though she never urged him to work. 

He had come gradually to depend upon Rose — a 
great deal more than he realised. Quite often he per- 
ceived the truth of the saying that “a blue-ribbon 


Savefc— anb %ost 


249 


friendship is better than an honourable mention 
love.” It was evident that Isabel had never loved 
him, though she had been pleased and flattered by 
his love for her. 

Even at the time that Aunt Francesca and Rose 
had congratulated him, and he had kissed them both 
in friendly fashion, he had taken passing note of the 
difference between Isabel and Rose. Of course it was 
only that Isabel was made of ice and Rose of flesh and 
blood, but still, it was pleasant to remember that 

His thoughts began to stray into other fields. Rose 
was his promised wife, as far as name went, yet she 
treated him with the frank good comradeship that a 
liberal social code makes possible between men and 
women. As far as Rose was concerned, there was no 
sentiment in the world. 

When she read to him, it was invariably a story of 
adventure or of humorous complications, or a well- 
chosen exposition of some recent advance in science 
or art. Their conversation was equally impersonal, 
even at the rare times they chanced to be alone. Rose 
made Colonel Kent, Aunt Francesca, Doctor Jack, 
and even the nurse equally welcome to Allison’s 
society. 

He went freely from room to room on the upper 
floor, but had not yet been downstairs, as a possible 
slip on the steps might do irreparable injury. Doctor 
Jack wanted to get him downstairs and outdoors, 
believing that actual contact with the earth is almost 
as good for people as it is for plants, but saw no way 
to manage it without a stretcher, which he knew 
Allison would violently resent. 

The twins came occasionally, by special invitation, 
though nobody noticed that it was always Doctor 


250 


©l b 1 Rose anb Silver 


Jack who suggested it. Once they brought a pan of 
Juliet’s famous fudges, which were politely appreciated 
by the others and extravagantly praised by the Doc- 
tor. The following day he was rewarded by a private 
pan of especially rich fudges — but Romeo brought it, 
on his way to the post-office. 

There was a daily card-party upon the upper 
veranda, and sometimes meals were served there. 
The piano had been moved upstairs into a back room. 
The whole-hearted devotion of the household was 
beautiful to behold, yet underneath it all, like an 
unseen current, was the tense strain of waiting. 

It was difficult not to annoy Doctor Jack with 
questions. Rose and the Colonel continually re- 
minded themselves and each other that he would be 
only too glad to bring encouragement at the moment 
he found it, and that by quiet and patience they could 
help him most. 

Juliet had pleaded earnestly with Doctor Jack to 
save Allison’s hand. “If you don’t,” she said, with 
uplifted eyes, “I’ll be miserable all the rest of my 
life.” 

“Bless your little heart,” the Doctor had answered, 
kindly; “I’d do ’most anything to keep you from 
being miserable, even the impossible, which happens 
to be my specialty. ” 

She did not quite understand, but sent a burnt 
offering to the Doctor, in the shape of a chocolate 
cake. He had returned the compliment by sending 
her the biggest box of candy she had ever seen, and, 
as it arrived about noon, she and Romeo had feasted 
upon it until they could eat no more, and had been 
uncomfortably ill for two days. Romeo had attributed 
their misfortune to the candy itself, but Juliet be- 


5a\>efc— ant> Xost 


251 

lieved that their constitutions had been weakened by 
their penitential fare, and, as soon as she was able, 
proved her point by finishing the last sweet morsel 
without painful results. 

The Summer waned and tints of palest gold ap- 
peared here and there upon the maples. The warm 
wind had the indefinable freshness of the Autumn sea, 
blown far inland at dawn. Allison became impatient 
and restless, the Colonel went off alone for long, 
moody walks; even Doctor Jack began to show the 
effects of the long strain. 

Only Rose was serene. Fortunately, no one guessed 
the tumult that lay beneath her outward calm. Her 
manner toward Allison was, if anything, more im- 
personal than ever, though she failed in no thought- 
ful kindness, no possible consideration. He accepted 
it all as a matter of course, but began to wish, vaguely, 
for something more. 

He forebore to remind her of their strange relation, 
and could not allude to the night he had kissed her, 
while his fiancee stood near by. Yet, late one after- 
noon, when she had excused herself a little earlier 
than usual, he called her back. 

“Rose?” 

"Yes?” She returned quickly and stood before 
him, just out of his reach. "What is it? What can I 
do for you?” 

The tone was kind but impersonal, as always. 
"Nothing,” he sighed, turning his face away. 

That night she pondered long. What could Alli- 
son want that she had not given? The blood surged 
into her heart for an instant, then retreated. "Non- 
sense,” she said to herself in tremulous anger. "It’s 
impossible!” 


©52 


®R> IRose an& Silver 


Afterward it seemed continually to happen that she 
was alone with Allison when the time came to say 
good-night and drive home, or walk, escorted by 
Colonel Kent or the Doctor. By common consent, 
they seemed to make excuses to leave the room as the 
hour of departure approached, and she always found 
it easier when someone was there. 

Again, when she had made her adieux and had 
reached the door leading into the hall, Allison called 
her back. 

“Yes.” 

Couldn’t you — just once, you know — for good- 
night?’' he asked, with difficulty. 

His face made his meaning clear. Rose bent, 
kissed him tenderly upon the forehead, and quickly 
left the room. Her heart was beating so hard that 
she did not know she stumbled upon the threshold, 
nor did she hear his low: “ Thank you — dear.” 

That night she could not sleep. “I can’t,” she 
said to herself, miserably; “ I can’t possibly go on, if — 
Oh, why should he make it so hard for me!” 

If the future was to be possible on the lines already 
laid down, he, too, must keep the impersonal attitude. 
Yet, none the less, she was conscious of an uplifting 
joy that would not be put aside, but insistently 
demanded its right of expression. 

She did not dare trust herself to see Allison again, 
and yet she must. She could not fail him now, when 
he needed her so much, nor could she ask the others to 
see that they were not left alone. One day might be 
gained for respite by the plea of a headache, which is 
woman’s friend as often as it is her enemy. And, after 
that one day, what then? What other excuse could 
she make that would not seem heartless and cold? 


Sat>e&— ant) Xost 


253 

It was an old saying of Aunt Francesca’s that 
“ when you can’t see straight ahead, it's because you’re 
about to turn a comer.” She tormented herself 
throughout the night with futile speculations that led 
to nothing except the headache which she had planned 
to offer as an excuse. 

A brief note gave her the day to herself, and also 
brought flowers from Allison, with a friendly note in 
his own hand. Doctor Jack was the messenger and 
took occasion to offer his services in the conquest of 
the headache, but Rose declined with thanks, sending 
down word that she preferred to sleep it off. 

Though breakfast might be a movable feast at 
Madame’s, it was always consistently late. It was 
nearly nine o’clock in the morning when the telephone 
wakened Madame from a dreamless sleep. She 
listened until it became annoying, but no one answered 
it. Finally she got up, rather impatiently, and went 
to it herself, anticipating Rose by only a minute. 

Tremulous with suspense, Rose waited, scarcely 
daring to breathe until Madame turned with a cry of 
joy, the receiver falling from her nerveless hand. 
“Rose! Rose! he’s saved! Our boy is saved! He’s 
saved, do you understand?” 

“Truly? Is it sure?” 

“ Blessedly sure ! Oh, Rose, he’s saved ! ” 

The little old lady was sobbing in an ecstasy of relief. 

Rose led her to a couch and waited quietly until 
she was almost calm, then went back to her own room. 
Once more her world was changed, as long ago she 
had seen how it must be with her should the one thing 
happen. She, with the others, had hoped and prayed 
for it; her dearest dream had come true at last, and 
left her desolate. 


*54 


©ifc IRose a nfc Silver 


She was unselfishly glad for Allison, for the Colonel, 
Aunt Francesca, Doctor Jack, the sorrowing twins, 
and, in a way, for herself. It had been given her to 
serve him, and she had not hoped for more. It made 
things easier now, though she had not thought the 
comer would be turned in just this way. 

Having made up her mind and completed her plans, 
she went to Madame as soon as she was dressed. She 
had hidden her paleness with so little rouge that even 
Madame’s keen eyes could not suspect it. 

“Aunt Francesca,’ * she began, without prelimin- 
ary, “I’ve got to go away. ” 

“Why, dear, and where? For how long?” 

“Because I’m so tired. Things have been hard for 
me — over there, lately — and I don’t care where I go. ” 

“I see,” returned Madame, tenderly. “You want 
to go away for a rest. You’ve needed it for a long 
time. ” 

“Yes,” Rose nodded, swinging easily into the lie 
that did not deceive either. “Oh, Aunt Francesca, 
can I go to-day?” 

“Surely — at any hour you choose.” 

“And you’ll — make it right?” 

“Indeed I will. I’ll just say that you’ve been 
obliged to go away on business — to look after some 
investments for both of us, and I hope you’ll stay 
away long enough to get the rest and change you’ve 
needed for almost a year. ” 

“Oh, Aunt Francesca, how good you are! But 
where ? Where shall I go ? ” 

Madame had been thinking of that. She knew the 
one place where Rose could go, and attain her balance 
in solitude, untroubled by needless questions or ex- 
planations. With the feeling of the mother who gives 


5a\>e&— a n& 3Lost 


255 


her dead baby’s dainty garments to a living child 
sorely in need, she spoke. 

“To my house up in the woods — the little house 
where love lived, so long ago. ” 

Rose’s pale lips quivered for an instant. “What 
have I to do with love?” 

“Go to the house where he lived once, and perhaps 
you may find out. ” 

“I will — I’ll be glad to go. If I could make the 
next train, could you arrange to have a trunk follow 
me?” 

“Of course. Go on, dear. I know how it happens 
sometimes, that one can’t stay in one place any longer. 
I suffered from wanderlust until I was almost seventy, 
and it’s a long time since you’ve been away.” 

“And you’ll promise not to tell anybody?” 

“I promise.” 

While Rose was packing a suit-case, Madame 
brought her a rusty, old-fashioned key, and a card on 
which she had written directions for the journey. 
“I’ve ordered the carriage,” she said, “and I’ll drive 
down with you to see you safely off.” 

After the packing was completed and while there 
was still nearly an hour to wait before the carriage 
would come, Rose locked her door, and, after many 
failures, achieved her note: 

“My dear Allison: 

“You don’t know how glad I am for you and how 
glad I shall be all the rest of my life. I’ve hoped and 
dreamed and prayed from the very beginning that it 
might be so, and I believe that, in time, you’ll have 
back everything you have lost. 

“Now that you no longer need me, I am going away 


*56 


®R> TCose an& Silver 


to attend to some necessary business for Aunt Fran- 
cesca and myself, and perhaps to rest a little while in 
some new place before I go back to my work. 

“Of course our make-believe engagement expires 
automatically now, and I hope you’ll soon find the 
one woman meant to make you happy. I am glad to 
think that I’ve helped you a little when you came to a 
hard place, for the most that any one of us may do for 
another is to smooth the road. 

“Remember me to the others, say good-bye for me, 
and believe me, With all good wishes, 

“Your friend always, 

“Rose.” 

When she sealed and addressed it, she had a queer 
sense of closing the door, with her own hands, upon 
all the joy Life might have in store for her in years to 
come. Yet the past few weeks were secure, beyond 
the power of change or loss, and her pride was saved. 

No one could keep her from loving him, and the 
thought brought a certain comfort to her sore heart. 
Wherever he might be and whatever might happen 
to him, she could still love him from afar, and have, 
for her very own, the woman’s joy of utmost giving. 

When the carriage came, she went down, and with- 
out a word put her note into Aunt Francesca’s faithful 
hands. Isabel had not appeared, fortunately, and 
it was not necessary to leave any message — Aunt 
Francesca would make it right, as she always had 
with everybody. 

When the little old lady lifted her face, saying: 
“Good-bye, dear, come back to me soon,” Rose’s 
heart misgave her. “I’ll stay,” she said, brokenly; 
“I won’t leave you.” 


5ax>efc>— ant> %ost 


257 


But Madame only smiled, and nodded toward the 
waiting train. She stood on the platform, waving her 
little lace-bordered handkerchief, until the last car 
rounded the curve and the fluttering bit of white that 
was waved in answer had vanished. 

Then Madame sighed, wiped her eyes, and drove 
home. 


XXII 


n :*8frtb£>a£ parts 

Allison received the note from Rose at the time he 
was expecting Rose herself, and was keenly dis- 
appointed. 4 4 She might at least have stopped long 
enough to say good-bye, ” he said to his father. 

4 4 Don’t be selfish, lad, ” laughed the Colonel. 44 We 
owe her now a debt that we can never hope to pay. ” 

The young man’s face softened. 44 What a brick 
she has been!” Then, to himself, he added: 44 If she 
had loved me, she couldn’t have done more.” 

Life seemed very good to them both that crisp 
September morning. Just after breakfast Doctor 
Jack had announced, definitely, that the crushed 
hand was saved, unless there should be some unlooked- 
for complication. 44 But mind you,” he insisted, 44 1 
don’t promise any violin-playing, and there’ll be scars, 
but well make it look as well as we can. Anyhow, 
you’ll not be helpless. ” 

Allison smiled happily. 44 Why can’t I play, if it 
heals up all right?” 

44 There may be a nerve or two that won’t work just 
right, or a twisted muscle, or something. However, 
we’ll keep hoping.” 

The heavy weight that had lain so long upon Alli- 
son’s heart was slow in lifting. At first he could not 
258 


a Bfrtb&ag ©art? 259 

believe the good news, greatly to Doctor Jack’s 
disgust. 

“You don’t seem to care much,” he remarked. 
“I supposed you’d turn at least one somersault. The 
Colonel is more pleased than you are.” 

“Dear old dad,” said Allison, gratefully. “I owe 
him everything. ” 

“Everything?” repeated the Doctor, with lifted 
brows. “And where does Jonathan Ebenezer Middle- 
kauffer come in, to say nothing of the future Mrs. 
Kent?” 

Allison’s face clouded for an instant. “ I’ll never 
forget what you’ve done for me, but there isn’t any 
future Mrs. Kent.” 

“No? Why I thought ” 

“So did I, but she’s thrown me over and gone away. 
This morning she sent me a note of congratulation 
and farewell.” 

“Upon my word! What have you done to her?” 

“Nothing. She says I don’t need her any more 
now, so she’s going away.” 

Doctor Jack paced back and forth on the veranda 
with his hands in his pockets. “The darkly mys- 
terious ways of the ever-feminine are wonderful be- 
yond the power of words to portray. Apparently 
you’ve had to choose between your hand and hers. ” 

“I’m not sure,” returned Allison, thoughtfully, 
“that I wouldn’t rather have hers than mine.” 

“Brace up, old man. Get well and go after her. 
The world isn’t big enough to keep a man away from 
the woman he wants. ” 

“But,” answered Allison, dejectedly, “she doesn’t 
care for me. It was only womanly pity, and now that 
I don’t need that, I’ve lost her. ” 


e6o ©lb IRose anb Silver 

44 She doesn’t care for you!” repeated the Doctor* 
44 Why, man, how can you sit there and tell a lie like 
that ? Of course she cares ! * ’ 

Allison turned to look at him in astonishment. 
41 It isn’t possible!” 

41 Isn’t it? Then I don’t know anything about 
human nature, though I must confess I’m not up 
much on the feminine part of it. How long ” 

44 Just since the accident. The girl I was going to 
marry let me release her. She didn’t want a cripple, 
you know.” 

44 And Miss Bernard did, and you’ve disappointed 
her?” 

44 Something like that.” 

44 You seem to have had fierce luck with girls. One 
gives you up because you’ve only got one hand, and 
the other because you’ve got two. There’s no pleasing 
women. Hello — here comes smother note. Maybe 
she’s changed her mind. ” 

For a breathless instant Allison thought so, too, but 
Doctor Jack was opening it. 44 Mine, ” he said. 44 It’s 
an invitation to Crosby’s. It seems that they come 
of age day after to-morrow, and I’m invited out to 
supper to help celebrate. I won’t go, or anything, 
will I? Oh, no, of course not! I haven’t seen ’em for 
a week. Are presents expected?” 

44 Your presence seems to be expected,” remarked 
Allison. 

44 I’m glad you’ve got that out of your system, ” the 
Doctor retorted, with a scornful smile. 4 4 You ought 
to improve right along now.” 

44 Is it a party?” 

r 44 They don’t say so. I hope it isn’t. ” 

[ However, when Doctor Jack strolled up the dusty 


a Bfrtbfcas ©artg 


261 

road, a carriage that must have come from Crosby’s 
passed him. He stopped short, wildly considering an 
impulse of flight. Then he went on bravely, smiling 
at the thought that any entertainment given by the 
twins could be by any possibility, a formal affair. 

The other guest was Isabel, whom Doctor Jack 
had not met and of whom he knew nothing. She 
observed him narrowly when opportunity offered, for 
she knew who he was, and wondered what he had 
heard of her. Soon she became certain that her name 
carried no meaning to him, for he talked freely of 
Allison and the Colonel and frankly shared the joy 
of the twins at the welcome news. 

“Oh," cried Juliet, clapping her hands in glee. 
“It’s the very best birthday present we could 
have, isn’t it, Romie?” 

“I should say,’’ replied that young man, with an 
expansive smile. “Say," he added to Doctor Jack, 
“you must be a brick." 

“I’ve only done my best," he responded, modestly. 

Isabel could say nothing for some little time. She 
was furiously angry with Aunt Francesca because she 
had not told her. The day that Rose went away, 
everyone in the house had been very glad about some- 
thing, even to the servants, but she had asked no 
questions and received no information, except that 
Rose had been obliged to go away very suddenly upon 
business of immediate importance. 

“You must be awful glad," said Juliet, to Isabel. 

“Of course," answered Isabel, coldly, clearing her 
throat. 

“He must feel pretty good," Romeo observed. 

“Yes," returned Doctor Jack, “except that he’s 
lost his girl." 


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®R> IRose anb Stiver 


Isabel flushed and nervously turned on her finger 
the diamond ring that she still wore. 

“He’s had fierce luck with girls, ” resumed the 
Doctor, unthinkingly. “One passed him up because 
he was hurt, and the other because he was going to get 
well. ,, 

The tense silence that ensued indicated that he had 
made a mistake of some sort. It had not occurred 
to him that the twins did not know of Allison’s 
engagement to Rose, nor did he suspect Isabel’s 
identity. 

Juliet was staring at Isabel in pained surprise. 
“Did you?” she asked, slowly, “throw him over 
because he got hurt?” 

“He offered to release me,” said Isabel, in a small, 
cold voice, “and I accepted. I did not know until 
just now that Cousin Rose had taken my leavings. ” 
The older woman’s mysterious departure presented 
itself to her now in a new light. 

“Suffering Cyrus,” said Doctor Jack, aloud, “but 
I have put my foot into it. Look here, kind friends, 
I never was meant for a parlour, and I always make 
mistakes when I stray into one. My place is in a 
hospital ward or at the bedside of those who have 
been given up to die. The complex social arena is not 
where I shine to my best advantage. There are too 
many rings to keep track of at once, and my mind gets 
cross-eyed. ” 

“Come on up to the attic,” suggested Juliet, with 
a swift change of subject, “and we’ll do stunts on the 
trapeze.” 

Isabel and Doctor Jack sat side by side on a battered 
old trunk in stony silence while the twins were donning 
their gymnasium costumes. Fortunately, it did not 


B BirtbfcaE pacts 


263 


take long and the sight of Juliet hanging by her 
feet furnished the needed topic of conversation. 
The lithe little body seemed to be made of steel 
fibres. She swayed back and forth, catching Romeo 
as he made a flying leap from the other trapeze, 
as easily as another girl would have wielded a tennis 
racquet. 

At length Doctor Jack interposed a friendly word 
of warning. “ Look here, kid,” he said, “you’re made 
of flesh and blood, you know, just like the rest of 
us. Better cut out that trapeze business. ” 

“I don’t know why,” returned Juliet, resent- 
fully, as 'she slipped gracefully to the floor, right 
side up. “I’m as strong as Romie is, or almost as 
strong. ” 

“ Girls do it in the circus, ” Romeo observed, wiping 
his flushed face. 

“Ever heard of any of ’em living to celebrate 
their hundredth birthday?” queried Doctor Jack, 
significantly. 

The twins admitted that they had not. “I don’t 
care, ” cried Juliet, “ I’d rather live ten years and keep 
going, than live to be a hundred and have to sit still 
all the time.” 

“No danger of your sitting still too long, ” returned 
Doctor Jack, good-humouredly. “It’s hot up here, 
isn’t it?” 

“Rather warm,” Romeo agreed. “You folks can 
go downstairs until we get on our other clothes, if 
you like.” 

They had reached the head of the stairs when 
Isabel changed her mind. “I believe I’ll wait for 
Juliet,” she said, turning back. 

So the Doctor went down alone, inwardly reviling 


264 


©ID IRose anD Stiver 


himself for his unlucky speech, and glad of an oppor- 
tunity to contemplate the characteristic residence of 
the twins. 

The whole house was, frankly, a place where people 
did as they chose, and the furniture bore marks of 
having been used not wisely, but too well. Every- 
thing was clean, though not aggressively so. He 
ascribed the absence of lace curtains to Romeo and 
the Cloisonne vase to Juliet. The fishing rods in one 
comer were probably due to both. 

When the others came down, Juliet tied a big blue 
gingham apron over her white muslin gown and 
excused herself. She had been cooking for the better 
part of two days and took a housewifely pride in 
doing everything herself. They had chosen the things 
they liked the most, so the dinner was unusual, as 
dinners go. 

Isabel, eating daintily, made no effort to conceal 
her disdain, but Doctor Jack ate heartily, praised 
everything, and brought the blush of pleasure to 
Juliet’s rosy cheeks. 

Romeo, at the head of the table, radiated the 
hospitality of the true host, yet a close observer would 
have noted how often he cast admiring glances at 
Isabel. She was so dainty, so beautifully gowned 
and elaborately coiffured, that Romeo compared 
her with his sister greatly to the disadvantage of the 
latter. 

Juliet’s hair was unruly and broke into curls all 
around her face; Isabel’s was in perfect order, with 
every wave mathematically exact. Juliet’s face was 
tanned and rosy ; Isabel’s pale and cool. Juliet’s hands 
were rough and her finger-tips square; Isabel’s were 
white and tapering, with perfectly manicured nails. 


B :!Btrtbbas parts 


265 


And their gowns — there was no possible comparison 
there. Both were in white, but Romeo discovered 
that there might be a vast difference in white 
gowns. 

Afterward, the guests were taken out into the yard, 
and led to the comprehensive grave of the nineteen 
dogs. Minerva kept at a safe distance, but the five 
puppies gambolled and frolicked, even to the verge of 
the sepulchre. Romeo desired to send a dog to Allison, 
and generously offered Isabel her choice, but she 
refused. 

“Ill take the pup,” said the Doctor. “It might 
amuse him, and anyhow, he’d like to know that you 
thought of him.” 

Isabel had strolled down toward the bam. Juliet 
hesitated, duty bidding her follow Isabel and inclina- 
tion holding her back. Presently Isabel returned, 
and her face was surprisingly animated. 

“Is that our car in the barn?” she asked. Her 
manner betrayed great excitement. 

“Why, it’s Allison Kent’s car, isn’t it?” inquired 
Romeo. 

“ I thought it was mine. Colonel Kent gave it to me 
for a wedding present. ” 

“I thought you couldn’t keep the wedding pres- 
ents unless the wedding came off,” Juliet observed 
practically. 

“I’ve still got my ring, ” said Isabel. “Allison said 
he wanted me to keep it, and he gave me his violin, 
too. I should think they’d want me to keep the 
car.” 

41 Better make sure,” suggested Doctor Jack, 
politely. 

“ People don’t scatter automobiles around care- 


q6 6 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


lessly among their friends, as a general rule, ” observed 
Juliet. 

“I wish I could get it up to Kent’s,” Romeo said, 
thoughtfully. “ It always reminds me — here. ” 

“ I’d just as soon drive it back,” the Doctor an- 
swered. “ It’s more of a trot out here than I supposed 
it was. ” 

‘‘Why, yes,” cried Juliet. “You can drive it back 
to-night and take Isabel home!” 

“ Charmed, ” lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow. 

So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into 
the red car and went back over the fateful road. The 
machine ran well, but it seemed to require the driver’s 
entire attention, for his conversation consisted of 
brief remarks to which answers even more brief were 
vouchsafed. 

When he turned on the wide road in front of 
Madame Bernard’s, after leaving Isabel at the gate, 
she lingered in the shadow, watching, until he was out 
of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and 
fainter, then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and 
went in, wondering if Allison, after giving her the ring 
and the violin, would not also want her to have the car. 
Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send back 
the violin — she pondered over it until almost dawn, 
then went to sleep. 

The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard 
slept, Isabel sat idly in the living-room, looking out of 
the window, though, as she told herself fretfully, there 
was not much use of looking out of the window when 
nobody ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased 
the thought than she heard the faint chug-chug of an 
approaching motor. 


B Bfrtbfcas parts 


267 


She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, 
and presently saw the big red automobile whizz by. 
Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at the wheel. 
Beside him was Colonel Kent. 

Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, 
since there was no one else. Fortune favoured her if 
she wished to see him. But did she dare? 

Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming her- 
self with an excuse in the shape of the violin, she 
sallied forth and made her way to Kent's, meeting no 
one upon the well-worn path. 

As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, 
walking back and forth, persistently accompanied by 
the Crosby pup. Assisted by the Colonel and Doctor 
Jack, he had come down without accident, and had 
promised to go out in the car with them a little 
later. 

When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped 
in astonishment. He did not go to meet her, but 
offered her a chair and said, with formal polite- 
ness: “How do^ you do? This is an unexpected 
pleasure." 

“I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the 
violin. 

He took it with a smile. “Thank you. I don't 
know that I shall ever use it again, but I am glad 
to have it." 

There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in 
her chair. Then she slipped the ring from her finger. 
“ Do you want this now? " she asked. Her face was a 
shade paler. 

Allison laughed. “Indeed I don't. Whom could I 
give it to?" 

“Rose, " suggested Isabel, maliciously. 


c68 


IRose ant> Silver 


Allison sighed and turned his face away. “She 
wouldn’t take it,” he said, sadly. 

Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently re- 
lieved. “I’m glad you’re better,” she went on, 
clearing her throat. 

“ Thank you. So am I. ” 

“ I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was 
with him. ” 

“Yes. They’re coming back for me in a little 
while.” 

“It’s a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home 
in it last night, from Crosby’s. ” 

“ So he told me. ” Allison did not see fit to say just 
how much Doctor Jack had told him. He smiled a 
little at the recollection of the young man’s remorseful 
confession. 

“I told them,” continued Isabel, “that I thought it 
was mine — that your father had given it to me, but it 
seems I was mistaken.” 

“ It seems so, ” Allison agreed. “ Dad gave it to the 
Doctor this morning.” 

Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. “For 
keeps?” 

“Yes, for keeps. It’s little enough to give him after 
all he’s done for me. We both wanted him to have 
it.” 

“You could get another, couldn’t you?” 

“I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually 
get things they want, if they are intangible.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” resumed Isabel, “that I 
was sorry I acted the way I did the last time I was 
here. ” 

“Don’t think of it,” replied Allison, kindly. “It 
was very natural. ” 


B Birtbbas ©arts 


269 


“ It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and 
— and — I wish everything could be as it was before,” 
she concluded, with a faint flush creeping into her 
face. 

“That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel — that 
things can never be as they were before. Sometimes 
they’re worse, sometimes better, but the world is never 
the same.” 

“Of course,” she answered, without grasping his 
meaning, “but you’re going to be all right again now, 
and — that’s the same. ” 

Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to 
conceal a smile. “It may be the same for me, but it 
couldn’t be for you. I couldn’t give you any guarantee 
that it wouldn’t happen again, you know. I might 
be run over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any 
one of a thousand things might happen to me. There’s 
always a risk. ” 

Tears filled Isabel’s eyes. “I don’t believe you 
ever cared very much for me,” she said, her lips 
quivering. 

“I did, Isabel, ” he answered, kindly, “but it’s gone 
now. Even at that, it lasted longer than you cared for 
me. Come, let’s be friends. ” 

He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a 
moment, then quickly took it away. He noted that 
it was very cold. 

“I must be going,” she said, keeping her self- 
control with difficulty. “Aunt Francesca will miss 
me. 

“Thank you for coming — and for bringing the 
violin. ” 

“You’re welcome. Good-bye. ” 

“Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you’ll be happy.” 


270 


®R> IRosc a nt> Stiver 


Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went 
out of the gate and out of his life, pride keeping her 
head high until she had turned the comer. Then, 
very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept. 


XXIII 


4# &eat6, f Die Gears ” 

“Say, Jule, ” inquired Romeo, casually, “why is it 
that you don’t look like a lady?” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Juliet, bristling. 

“I don’t know just what I mean, but you seem so 
different from everybody else. ” 

“I'm clean, ain’t I?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, grudgingly. 

“And my hair is combed?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“And my white dress is clean, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, but it doesn’t look like — like hers, you 
know.” 

“Her? Who’s ‘her’?” 

“You know — Isabel.” 

Juliet sighed and bit her lips. Her eyes filled with 
tears and she winked very hard to keep them back. 
An ominous pain clutched at her loyal little heart. 

“What do you want me to do, Romie?” she asked 
gently. 

“Why, I don’t know. Men never know about such 
things. Just make yourself like her — that’s all. ” 

“Huh!” Juliet was scornful now. “I don’t know 
whether I want to look like her or not, ” she remarked, 
coldly. 

“Why not?” he flashed back. 

271 


G72 


Olb iRose ant) Silver 


“ And I don’t want to be like her, either. She can’t 
do anything. She can’t cook, or swing on the trapeze, 
or skate, or fish, or row, or swim, or climb a tree, or 
ride horseback, or walk, or anything. ” 

“I could teach her, ” mused Romeo, half to himself. 
“I taught you.” 

“ Yes, ” cried Juliet, swallowing the persistent lump 
in her throat, “and now you’ve done it, you’re 
ashamed of me!” 

“I didn’t say so,” he temporised. 

“You didn’t have to. Don’t you suppose I can 
see?” 

“Don’t get so mad about it. She was laughing at 
you last night and so was the Doctor. They didn’t 
think it was nice for you to put on your knickers and 
swing on the trapeze. Ladies don’t do that. ” 

“You taught me,” she reminded him, quickly. 

“Yes, but I didn’t ask you to do it before everybody. 
You started it yourself. Isabel wouldn’t look at you, 
and you remember what the Doctor said, don’t you? 
He told you to cut it out. ” 

“That was because he thought it was dangerous.” 

“ ’Tisn’t dangerous, and he knows it. He knew it 
wasn’t refined and lady-like for you to do that before 
men. ” 

“It was only a doctor,” Juliet replied, in a small, 
thin voice. “Tl^’re different from other people. I 
wouldn’t let the Kents see me in my knickers, and you 
know it.” 

“You would, too, if you wanted to. You’re a 
perfect tomboy. You wouldn’t see Isabel doing 
that. ” 

“Probably not,” answered Juliet, dryly. “She’s 
no more likely to do that than I would be to go back 


2 73 


“Uears, flfcle dears '’ 

on the man I'd promised to marry, just because his 
hand was hurt. ” 

“You’ll never have a chance to go back on anybody, 
so you don’t know what you’d do. ” 

“Why won’t I?” 

“Because,” answered Romeo, choosing his words 
carefully, “when a man gets married, he wants to 
marry a lady, not a tomboy.” For some unknown 
reason, he resented any slur cast at Isabel. 

“And, ” replied Juliet, cuttingly, “when a lady gets 
married, she wants to marry a gentleman.” The 
accent carried insult with it, and Romeo left the house, 
slamming the door and whistling defiantly until he 
was out of hearing. 

There was no longer any need for Juliet to keep 
back the tears. Stretched at full length upon the 
disembowelled sofa, she buried her face in the pillow 
and wept until she could weep no more. Then she 
bathed her face, and pinned up her tangled hair, and 
went to the one long mirror the Crosby mansion 
boasted of, to take an inventory of herself. 

She could see that Romeo was right — she didn’t 
look like a lady. Her skirt was too short and didn’t 
hang evenly, and her belt was wrong because she had 
no corsets. Juliet made a wry face at the thought of a 
corset. None of her clothes fitted like Isabel’s, her face 
was tanned, her hands rough and red, and her nails 
impossible. 

“I look just like a boy, ” Juliet admitted to herself, 
“dressed up in girl’s clothes. If Romie’s hair was 
long, and he had on this dress, he’d look just like me.” 

Pride forbade her to go to Isabel and inquire into 
the mysteries of her all-pervading femininity. Any* 
how, Isabel would laugh at her. Anybody would 


*74 


©lb TRose anb Stiver 


laugh at her — unless Miss Bernard — but she had 
gone away. She was a lady, even more than Isabel, 
and so was the little old lady everybody called “ Aunt 
Francesca. ” 

If she could see “Aunt Francesca, ” she wouldn’t be 
ashamed to tell her what Romeo had said. If she only 
knew what to do, she could do it, for she had plenty of 
money. Juliet dimly discerned that money was very 
necessary if one would be the same sort of “lady” 
that the others were. 

“If Mamma hadn’t died,” said Juliet, to herself, 
“I guess I’d have been as much of a lady as anybody, 
and nobody would have dared call me a tomboy.” 
Her heart ached for the gentle little mother who had 
died many years ago. “She would have known,” 
sighed Juliet. “ Mamma was a lady if anybody ever 
was, and she didn’t have the money we’ve got either. ” 

The life of the Crosbys had been bare of luxuries 
and sometimes even of comforts, until the considerate 
uncle died and left his money to the twins. As for- 
tunes go, it was not much, but it seemed inexhaustible 
to them because they did not know how to spend it. 

“I’ll go this very day,” thought Juliet, “and see 
Aunt Francesca. I’ll ask her. If Isabel is there, I'll 
have to wait, but if I don’t ask for Isabel, maybe I 
won’t see her. ” 

Having decided upon a plan of action, the way 
seemed easier, so Juliet went about her daily duties 
with a lighter heart, and even sang after a fashion, as 
she awkwardly pressed the wrinkles from her white 
muslin gown. Though it was September, it was still 
warm enough to wear it. 

Romeo, having only the day before attained his 
maturity, had taken unto himself the masculine 


“TTears, fl&le TLcave” 


275 


privilege of getting angry at someone else for what he 
himself had done. He was furious with Juliet, though 
he did not trouble himself to ask why. “The idea,*’ 
he muttered, “of her criticising Isabel !” 

His wounded sensibilities impelled him to walk past 
the Bernard house, very slowly, two or three times, 
but there was no one in sight. He went to the post- 
office as a mere matter of habit; there was seldom any 
mail for the Crosby s except on the first of the month, 
when the lawyer’s formal note, “enclosing remit- 
tance,” came duly to hand. Nobody seemed to be 
around — there was nothing to do. It would have been 
natural to go back home, but he was too angry for 
that, and inwardly vowed to stay away long enough to 
bring Juliet to her senses. 

He recalled the night he had called upon Isabel and 
had not reached home until late. He remembered 
the torrent of tears and Juliet’s cry: “Oh, Romie! 
Romie ! I don’t care where you’ve been as long as I’ve 
got you back!” It pleased his masculine sense of 
superiority to know that he had power over a woman’s 
tears — to make them come or go, as he chose. 

He sauntered slowly toward Kent’s, thinking that 
he might while away an hour or two there. It was a 
long time until midnight, and there seemed to be 
nothing to do but to sit and wait. He could ask about 
the car and whether it was all right now. If Doctor 
Jack could run it, maybe they could go out together 
for a little spin. It would be nice to go by his own 
house and never even turn his head. And, if they 
could get Isabel to go, too, it would teach Juliet a 
much-needed lesson. 

He had nearly reached his destination when he 
came upon the picture of Beauty in Distress. Isabel 


©lb 1 Rose attb Stiver 


076 

sat at the roadside, leaning against a tree, sobbing. 
Romeo gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. 
“Say,” he called, cheerfully, “what’s wrong?” 

Isabel looked up, wiped her eyes, and began to weep 
more earnestly. Though Juliet’s tears had moved 
him to anger and disdain, Isabel’s grief roused all his 
chivalry. He sat down beside her and tried to take 
her handkerchief away from her eyes. 

“Don’t,” he said, softly. “What’s the matter?” 

“Oh,” sobbed Isabel, “I’m the most miserable girl 
in the whole world. Nobody wants me!” 

“What makes you say that?” demanded Romeo. 
“Look here, if you’ll tell me who’s been making you 
cry, I’ll ” 

He did not finish the sentence, but his tone indicated 
that dire misfortune would be visited upon the luckless 
individual directly responsible for Isabel’s tears. 

“You know,” began Isabel, after her sobs had 
quieted somewhat, “I was engaged to Allison Kent 
until you ran over us. At first I couldn’t go over — 
I was so bruised and lame and before I was well 
enough to go, I got a note from him, releasing me 
from the engagement. ” 

“Yes?” queried Romeo, encouragingly. “Go on.” 

“Well, I didn’t think I ought to go over, under the 
circumstances, but Aunt Francesca made me go — she’s 
been mean to me, too. So I went and he was horrid 
to me — perfectly horrid. I offered him his ring and he 
almost threw his violin at me, and told me to keep 
that, too. I was afraid of him. 

“Well, since that, everything has been awful. I 
wrote to Mamma, and told her about it and that I 
couldn’t stay here any longer, and she didn’t answer 
for a long time. Then she said I would have to stay 


“Uears, Able tTears” 


Q77 

where I was until she could make new arrangements 
for me and that she was glad I wasn’t going to marry a 
cripple. She said something about ‘the survival of 
the unfit, ’ but I didn't understand it. 

“And then, last night, when I heard that Allison 
wasn’t going to lose his hand after all, I thought I 
ought to take his violin back to him and try to well, — 
to make up, you know. So I’ve just been there. He 
took the violin all right, but he didn’t seem to want 
me. He said nothing could ever be as it was before. 
I was ready to get married and go away — I’d do 
almost anything for a change — but he actually seemed 
to be glad to get rid of me and they’ve given my 
automobile, that Colonel Kent himself gave to me for 
a wedding present, to that doctor who was out to your 
house last night. Oh,’’ sobbed Isabel, “I wish I was 
dead. If you only hadn’t run over us, everything 
would have been all right!” 

Romeo’s young face was set in stern and unaccus- 
tomed lines. He, then, was directly responsible for 
Isabel’s tears. He had run over them and hurt Isabel 
and made everything wrong for her, and, because she 
was a lady, she wasn’t blaming him in the least. She 
had merely pointed out to him, as gently as she could, 
what he had done to her. 

A bright idea flashed into his mind, as he remem- 
bered that he was twenty-one now and could do as he 
pleased without consulting anybody. He reached 
into his pocket, drew out a handful of greenbacks and 
silver, even a gold piece or two. It would serve Juliet 
just right and make up to Isabel for what he had done. 

“ I say, Isabel, ” he began awkwardly. “ Would you 
be willing to marry me?” 

■_ Isabel quickly dried her tears. “Why, I don’t 


©it> TRose ant) Stiver 


278 1 

know,” she answered, much astonished. Then the 
practical side of her nature asserted itself. “Have 
you got money enough?” 

Romeo tendered the handful of currency. 4 ‘All 
this, and plenty more in the bank. ” 

“I know, but it was the bank I was talking about. 
Have you got enough for us to live at a nice hotel 
and go to the theatre every night?” 

“More than that,” Romeo asserted, confidently. 
“ I Ve got loads. ” 

“I — don’t know,” said Isabel, half to herself. “It 
would serve them all right. Allison used to be jealous 
of you, ” she added, with a sidelong glance that set his 
youthful heart to fluttering. 

“Juliet is jealous of you, ” Romeo responded disloy- 
ally. “ We had an awful scrap this morning because I 
asked her why she didn’t try to be a lady, like you. ” 

“Of course,” replied Isabel, smoothing her gown 
with a dainty hand, “I’ve always liked Juliet, but I 
liked you better.” 

“Really, Isabel? Did you always like me?” 

“Always.” 

“Then come on. Let’s skip out now, the way they 
do in the books. Let’s take the next train. ” 

“Why not get married here?” objected Isabel, 
practically, “and take the four- thirty into town? 
There’s a minister here, and while you’re seeing about 
it, I can go home and get my coat.” 

“All right, but don’t stop for anything else. We’ve 
got to hustle. Don’t tell anybody. ” 

“Not even Aunt Francesca?” 

“No, she’d make a fuss. And besides, she doesn’t 
deserve it, if she’s been mean to you. ” Romeo leaned 
over and bestowed a meaningless peck upon the fair 


279 


“TEears, Able Treats’ 1 

cheek of his betrothed. " I’ll never be mean to you, ” 
he said. 

“I know you won’t,” Isabel returned, trustfully. 
Then she laughed as she rose to her feet. " It will be a 
good joke on Allison, ” she said, gleefully. 

“ It’ll be a good joke on everybody, ” Romeo agreed, 
happily. 

" Listen, ” said Isabel. A faint chug-chug was heard 
in the distance, gradually coming nearer. "It’s my 
car. I wish you hadn’t been so quick to get rid of it 
last night. We could have gone away in it now. ” 

"Never mind, I’ll buy you another.” 

They hoped to reach the turn in the road before the 
car got there, but failed. Doctor Jack came to a dead 
stop. "Want a lift?” he asked. 

"No, thank you,” said Romeo. 

"No, thank you, ” repeated Isabel, primly. Colonel 
Kent had greeted her with the most chilling politeness, 
and she burned to get away. 

"Say,” resumed Romeo, "will you do something 
for me?” 

" Sure, ” replied the Doctor, cordially. " Anything. ” 

"Will you take a note out to my sister for me? I 
shan’t get back for — some time. ” 

"You bet. Where is it?” 

"I haven’t written it yet. Just wait a minute.” 

Romeo tore a leaf from an old memorandum book 
which he carried, and wrote rapidly: 

"Dear Jule: 

"Isabel and I have gone away to get married. 
You can have half of everything. I’ll let you know 
where to send my clothes. 


"R. C.” 


280 


©IS IRosc anfc Silver 


He was tempted to add an apology for what he 
had said earlier in the day, but his newly acquired 
importance made him refrain from anything so 
compromising. 

He folded the note into a little cocked hat and 
addressed it. “Much obliged,” he said, laconically. 
“So long.” 

“So long,” returned Doctor Jack, starting the 
engine. 

“ Good-bye, ” said the Colonel, lifting his hat. 

Romeo left Isabel at Madame Bernard's gate. 
“Hurry up,” he said, in a low tone. “I’ll meet you 
under the big elm down the road. ” 

“All right, ” she whispered. 

Madame Bernard was asleep, so Isabel hastily 
crammed a few things into a suit-case and slipped out 
of the house, unseen and unheard. As the half- 
starved minister of the country parish was sorely in 
need of the generous fee Romeo pressed upon him in 
advance, the arrangements were pitifully easy. He 
was at the trysting place fully ten minutes before she 
came in sight, staggering under the unaccustomed 
burden of a heavy suit-case. 

It might not have occurred to him to relieve Juliet 
of a cumbrous piece of baggage, but he instinctively 
took it from Isabel. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve 
got to hurry if we don’t want to miss the four- thirty.” 

“How long does it take to get married?” queried 
Isabel. 

“Not long, I guess. See how people fool around 
over it, and we’re getting through with it in one 
afternoon. We’re making a record, I guess. ” 

It seemed that they were, for when they came to the 
shabby little brown house, near the big white church, 

t 


“TTears, IMe tlears” 


281 

the minister, his wife, and a next-door neighbour were 
waiting. In a very short time, the ceremony was over 
and Mr. and Mrs. Romeo Crosby were on the train, 
speeding toward their honeymoon and the lively 
years that undoubtedly lay ahead of them. 

Allison had changed his mind about going out that 
afternoon, but promised to go next time. Colonel 
Kent remained at home, and Doctor Jack sped away 
alone upon his errand. 

When he reached Crosby’s, Juliet, clad in her best, 
was just leaving the house. She was outwardly 
cheerful, but her face still bore traces of tears. 

“ Where were you going?” asked the Doctor, as 
Juliet greeted him. There was a new shyness in her 
manner, as of some unwonted restraint. 

“I was going into town. I wanted to see Aunt 
Francesca.” She slipped easily into the habit of the 
others, seldom hearing the name “ Madame Bernard. ” 

“I'll take you. Here’s a note from your brother.” 

Juliet opened it, read the fateful message, and 
turned white as death. 

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, much alarmed. 

In answer, she offered him the note, her hand shak- 
ing pitifully. The Doctor read it twice before he 
grasped the full meaning of it. “Well, I’ll be — ” he 
said, half to himself. 

Unable to stand, Juliet sat down upon the well- 
worn door-step and he sat down beside her. “It’s all 
my fault,” she said, solemnly. “Romie told me this 
morning that I wasn’t a lady, and he wanted me to be 
like her. He said I was a tomboy, and I told him 
that if I was, he’d done it himself, and he got mad and 
went away, and now ” 


fi82 


®U> ffiose a rib StI\>er 


Juliet burst into tears, but she had no handkerchief, 
so Doctor Jack gave her his. 

41 ‘Tears, idle tears,’ ” he quoted lightly. “I say, 
kid, don’t take it so hard. ” 

“I — I’m not a lady, ” she sobbed. 

“You are,” he assured her. “You’re the finest 
little lady I know. ” 

“ Don’t — don’t, ” she sobbed. “ Don’t make fun of 
me. Romie said that you were — laughing at me — - 
yesterday — because I was — a — a tomboy!” 

“Kid,” he said, softly, almost unmanned by a 
sudden tenderness quite foreign to his experi- 
ence. “Oh, my dear little girl, won’t you look 
at me?” 

The tone was wholly new to Juliet — she did not 
know that any man could be so tender, so beautifully 
kind. “It’s because he’s a doctor,” she thought. 
“He’s used to seeing people when they don’t feel 
right. ” 

“I’m so sorry,” he was saying. “Your brother 
didn’t mean anything by it, little girl. He was 
just teasing.” 

“He wasn’t,” returned Juliet, wiping her eyes. 
“Don’t you think I know when he’s teasing and when 
he isn’t? I’m not a lady; I’m only a tomboy, and 
now he’s gone away with her and left me all 
alone. ” 

“You’ll never be alone if I can help it, ” he assured 
her, fervently. “Look here, do you suppose you 
could ever learn to like me?” 

“Why, I like you now — I’ve always liked you.” 

“ I know, but I don’t mean that. Do you think you 
could ever like me a whole lot? Enough to marry me, 
I mean?” 


“Hears, Able Hears” 


283 

“Why, I don’t know — I never thought — ” Juliet’s 
voice trailed off into an inarticulate murmur of 
astonishment. 

“Won’t you try?’’ he pleaded. “Oh, Juliet, I’ve 
loved you ever since I first saw you!” 

The high colour surged into her face. He was not 
joking — he meant every word. Even Juliet could see 
that. 

“Won’t you try, dear? That’s all I’ll ask for, 
now. ” 

“ Why, yes, ” she said, her wide blue eyes fixed upon 
his. “I’d try almost anything — for you, but I’m only 
a tomboy. ” 

Doctor Jack caught her cold little hands in his. 
“Kiss me,” he said, huskily. 

Juliet’s face burned, but she lifted her lips to his, 
obediently and simply as a child. The man hesitated 
for an instant, then pushed her away from him; not 
unkindly, but firmly. 

“No, I won’t take it, Princess,” he said, in a 
strange tone. “I’ll wait until you wake up. ” 

“I’m — not asleep,” she stammered. 

“You are in some ways.” Then he added, 
irrelevantly, “Thank God!” 

“I don’t know,” remarked Juliet, at the end of an 
uncomfortable pause, “what to do with myself. I 
don’t want to stay here alone and I wouldn’t go any- 
where near them — not for the world. ” 

“Where did you say you were going, when I 
came?” 

“To Aunt Francesca’s — Madame Bernard, you 
know. ” 

“Good business,” he answered, nodding vigorous 
approval. “ Come on. She seems to be the unfailing 


©R> *&ose anb Silver 


284 

refuge of the shipwrecked mariner in this district. 
If I’m not much mistaken, she’ll take you into her big 
house and her bigger heart. ” 

“Oh,” said Juliet, wistfully, “do you think she 
would take me — and make me into a lady?” 

“I think she’ll take you,” he responded, after a 
brief struggle with himself, “but I don’t want you 
made over. I want you to stay just exactly as you 
are. Oh, you dear little kid,” he muttered, “you’ll 
try to care, won’t you?” 

“I’ll try,” she promised, sweetly, as she climbed 
into the big red machine. “I didn’t think I’d ever 
be in this car. ” 

“You can come whenever you like. It’s mine, 
now. ” 

Juliet did not seem to hear. The car hummed along 
the dusty road, making a soothing, purring noise. 
Pensively she looked across the distant fields, whence 
came the hum and whir of reaping. There was a far- 
away look in her face that the man beside her was 
powerless to understand. She was making swift 
readjustments as best she might, and, wisely, he left 
her to herself. 

As they approached Madame Bernard’s, Juliet 
turned to him. “I was just thinking,” she sighed, 
“how quickly you grow up after you get to be 
twenty -one. ” 

He made no answer. He swallowed hard and turned 
the car into the driveway. Aunt Francesca came out 
on the veranda, followed by Mr. Boffin, as Juliet 
jumped out of the car. She had the crumpled note in 
her cold little hand. 

Without a word, she offered it to Madame Bernard 
and waited. The beautiful face instantly became soft 


“XTears, Able Keats” 285 

with pity. “My dear child,” she breathed. “My 
dear little motherless child!” 

Juliet went into her open arms as straight as a 
homing pigeon to its nest. “Oh, Aunt Francesca,” 
she sobbed, “will you take me and make a lady out of 
me?” 

“ You’re already a lady,” laughed the older woman 
amid her tears . ‘ ‘ Come in, J uliet dear — come home ! ’ * 


XXIV 


Gbe Douse umbere Xoue Ziveb 

It was past the middle of October, and Allison’s 
injured hand was not only free of its bandages, but he 
had partially regained the use of it. Doctor Jack still 
lingered, eagerly seizing every excuse that presented 
itself. 

‘‘I suppose I ought to be back looking for another 
job,” he regretfully observed to Allison, “but I like 
it here, and besides, I want to hear you play on 
your fiddle before I go. ” 

Allison laughed and hospitably urged him to stay 
as long as he chose. Colonel Kent added, heartily, 
after an old Southern fashion: “My house is 
yours. ” 

Crimson and golden leaves rained from the maples, 
and the purple winds of Autumn swept them into 
drifts at the roadside. Amethystine haze shimmered 
in the valleys and lay, cloud-like, upon the distant 
hills. Through the long aisles of trees a fairy patter 
of tiny furred feet rustled back and forth upon the 
fallen leaves. Only a dropping nut or a busy squirrel 
broke the exquisite peace of the forest, where the 
myriad life of the woods waited, in hushed expectant, 
for the tide of the year to turn. 

Like a scarlet shuttle plying through the web o£ 
286 


Zhc Ibouse OTbere %ovc 2Lft>e& 287 

Autumn, the big red touring car hummed and whirred, 
with a happy young man at the wheel and a laughing 
girl beside him. Juliet’s momentary self-consciousness 
was gone, and she was her sunny self again, though she 
still occasionally wept in secret, longing for her 
brother. 

“Aunt Francesca,” she said, one day, when the 
two were sewing on dainty garments destined to 
adorn Juliet, “do you think Romie will ever come 
back to me?” 

“ Not in the sense you mean, dear,” replied Madame, 
gently. “We live in a world of change and things are 
never the same, even from day to da)’.” 

“She made him think I was a tomboy, and now 
she’ll teach him not to love me. Why does she want 
everything?” 

“Some women do, when they marry. Many are 
not content to be sweetheart and wife, but must take 
the place of mother and sisters too. But remember, 
Juliet, when a woman closes a man’s heart against 
those of his own blood, the one door she has left open 
will some day be slammed in her own face.” 

“And then ?” 

“Then the other doors will swing ajar, turning 
slowly on rusty hinges, but the women for whom 
they are opened will never cross the threshold 
again.” 

“Why?” 

“Because they have ceased to care. There is 
nothing so dead as a woman’s dead love. When the 
fir e* goes out and no single ember is left, the ashes are 
Jpast the power of flame to rekindle. ” 

“Do you think that, after a while, I won’t care for 
Romie any more?” 


088 


©lb IRose ant> Silver 


“ Not as you used to — that is impossible even 
now.” 

Juliet sighed and hastily wiped away a tear. With 
a quick, sure stroke, her life seemed to have been 
divided. 

“Don't, dear. Remember what you have had. I 
often think a woman has crossed the line between 
youth and maturity, when she begins to put away, 
in the lavender of memory, the lovely things she has 
had — and is never to have again. The after years are 
made up, so many times, of things one has had — 
rounded off and put away forever.” 

“I know,” returned Juliet, with a far-away look in 
her eyes. “I remember the day I grew up — almost 
the hour. It was the day I came here. ” 

Madame stooped to kiss the girl’s rosy cheek, then 
swiftly turned the talk to linen and lace. Always 
quick to observe, Juliet had acquired little graces of 
tone and manner, softened her abruptness, and, 
guided by loving tact, had begun to bloom like a 
primrose in a sunny window. 

“When — when Miss Bernard comes back again,” 
asked Juliet, wistfully, “shall I have to go?” 

“No, dear — indeed no! This is your home until 
the right man comes a-wooing, and takes you to a 
little house of your own. ” 

Scarlet signals flamed in Juliet’s cheeks as she 
earnestly devoted herself to her sewing, and Madame 
smiled. Already, in quiet moments, she had planned 
a pretty wedding gown for Juliet, and a still prettier 
wedding. 

Allison came frequently, sometimes alone and some- 
times with his father or Doctor Jack. He had re- 
marked once that when he desired to consult his 


Ube Douse XKUbere %ovc t&fueb 289 

physician , he always knew where to find him . Madame 
affected not to notice that a strange young man had 
become a veritable part of her family, for she liked 
Doctor Jack and made him very welcome, morning, 
noon, and night. 

On Wednesdays, the men of the other household 
dined with her. Saturdays, she and Juliet were 
honoured guests at the ColoneFs, though he depre- 
cated his own hospitality. “A house needs a woman 
at the head of it,’* he said. “It was different when 
Miss Rose was here. ” 

“ Indeed it was, ” thought Allison, though he did not 
put it into words. 

At the end of the month, when it was cool enough 
to make an open fire seem the most cheerful of com- 
panions, Madame had them all at her own table. 
Juliet was surpassingly lovely in her first long gown, 
of ivory- tinted chiffon, ornamented only by hand 
embroidery and a bit of deep-toned lace. Her wavy 
hair was gathered into a loose knot, from which tiny 
tendrils escaped to cling about her face. Madame had 
put a pink rose into her hair, slipped another into her 
belt, and had been well pleased with the work of her 
own hands. 

After dinner, while Juliet played piquet with the 
Colonel, and Doctor Jack sat quietly in the shadow, 
where he could watch every play of light and shade 
upon the girl’s lovely changing face, Allison drew 
Madame into the library and quietly closed the door. 

“Aunt Francesca,” he said, without preliminary, # 
“I’ve been more kinds of a fool in a few months than 
most men can manage to be in a lifetime. ” 

“Yes,” Madame agreed, with a cool little smile. 

“Where is Rose?” he demanded. 


19 


ego 


©lb IRose an& Stiver 


“Rose,” replied Madame, lightly, “has gone 
away.” 

“I know that,” he flashed back. “I realise it 
every day and every hour of my life. I asked 
where she was.” 

“And I,” answered Madame, imperturably, “have 
told you. She is simply ‘away.* ” 

“Is she well?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is she happy?” 

“Of course. Why not? Beauty, health, talent, 
sufficient income, love — what more can a woman 
desire?” 

“Aunt Francesca! Tell me, please. Where is 
Rose?” 

“When I was married,” answered Madame, idly 
fingering an ivory paper knife, “I went to live in a 
little house in the woods.” 

“Yes? Where is Rose? ” 

“It was only a tiny place, but a brook sang in front 
of it, night and day. ” 

“Must have been pretty. Where did Rose go?” 

“It was very quiet there. It would have been a 
good place to work, if either of us had been musical, 
or anything of that sort.” 

“Charming,” replied Allison, absently. 

“It wasn’t far from town, either. We could take a 
train at two o’clock, and reach Holly Springs a little 
after three. It was half a mile up the main road from 
the station, and, as we had no horse, we always 
walked.” 

“Nice walk,” said Allison, dejectedly. 

“I have never been back since — since I was left 
alone. Sometimes I have thought my little house 


Ube Ibouse Mbcre %ovc Xfveb 291 


ought to have someone to look after it. A house gets 
lonely, too, with no one to care for it. ” 

1 suppose so. Is Rose coming back?” 

“ I have often thought of the little Summer cottages, 
huddled together like frightened children, when the 
life and laughter had gone and Winter was swiftly 
approaching. How cold their walls must be and how 
empty the heart of a little house, when there is no fire 
there ! So like a woman, when love has gone out of her 
life.” 

Allison sighed, and began to sharpen his pencil. 
Madame observed that his hands were trembling. 

“I see,” he said. “I don’t deserve to know where 
she is, and Rose doesn’t want me chasing after her. 
Never mind — I had it coming to me, I guess. What 
a hopeless idiot I’ve been!” 

“Yes,” agreed Madame, cordially. “Carlyle says 
that 1 there is no other entirely fatal person.* ” 

Something in her tone gave him courage for another 
question. “Once for all, Aunt Francesca, will you 
tell me where Rose is?” 

“George Washington was a great man,” Ma- 
dame observed. “He never told a lie. If he had 
promised not to tell anything, he never told it.” 
Then she added, with swift irrelevance, “this used 
to be a very pleasant time of the year at Holly 
Springs.” 

A great light broke in upon Allison. “Aunt Fran- 
cesca!” he cried. He put his arms around her, lifted 
her from her chair, and nearly smothered her in a 
bear-like embrace. “God bless you ! ” 

“He has,” murmured Madame, disengaging her- 
self. “ My foster son has been a dunce, but his reason 
is now restored. ” 


©lt> IRose ant) Stiver 


C92 

The two o’clock train to Holly Springs did not leave 
town until three, so Allison waited for an hour in 
*the station, fuming with impatience. Both Colonel 
Kent and the Doctor had offered to accompany him, 
individually or together, but he had brusquely put 
them aside. 

“ Don’t worry,” he said. “My name and address 
are in my pocket and also inside my hat. I’ll check 
my grip and be tenderly considerate of my left hand. 
Good-bye. ” 

When he had gone Colonel Kent anxiously turned 
to the Doctor. ‘‘Where do you suppose — and 
why ” 

“ Cher chez la femme,” returned the Doctor. 

‘‘What makes you think so? It’s not ” 

“It’s about the only errand a man can go on, and 
not be willing to take another chap along. And I’ll 
bet anything I’ve got, except my girl and my buzz- 
cart, that it isn’t the fair, false one we met at the hour 
of her elopement. ” 

“Must be Rose, then,” said the Colonel, half to 
himself, “but I thought nobody knew where she 
was.” 

^ “Love will find a way,” hummed Doctor Jack. 
“I suppose you don’t care to go for a ride this 
afternoon?” 

“Npt I,” laughed the Colonel. “Why don’t you 
take Juliet?” 

“All right, since you ask me to. I wonder,” he 
continued to himself, as he went toward Madame 
Bernard’s at the highest rate of speed, “just how a 
fellow would go to work to find a woman who had left 
no address? Sixth sense, I suppose, or perhaps 
seventh or eighth.” 


XLbc fxmse Where %ovc %ivcb 


293 


. Yet Allison was doing very well, with only the five 
senses of the normal human being to aid him in his 
search. He left the train at the sleepy little place 
known as “Holly Springs, ” and walked up the main 
road as though he knew the way. 

“Half a mile,” he said to himself, “and a little 
brown house in the woods with a brook singing in 
front of it. Ought to get to it pretty soon. ” 

The prattling brook was half asleep in its narrow 
channel, but the gentle murmur was audible to one 
who stopped in the road to listen. It did not cross the 
road, but turned away, frightened, from the dusty 
highway of a modest civilisation, and went back into 
the woods, where it met another brook and travelled 
to the river in company. 

The house, just back of the singing stream, was a 
little place, as Madame Bernard had said, but, though 
he rapped repeatedly, no one answered. So he lifted 
the latch and cautiously stepped in. 

A grand piano, unblushingly new, and evidently 
of recent importation from the city, occupied most of 
the tiny living-room. The embers of a wood fire lay 
on the hearth and the room was faintly scented with 
the sweet smoke of hard pine. A well-known and 
worn sonata was on the music rack; a volume of 
Chopin had fallen to the floor. Allison picked it 
up, and put it in its place. On the piano was 
some of his own music, stamped with his Berlin 
address. 

A familiar hat, trimmed with crushed roses, lay 
on the window seat. The faint, indefinable scent of 
attar of roses was dimly to be discerned as a sort of 
background for the fragrant smoke. An open book 
lay face downward on the table ; a bit of dainty needle- 


e 94 


©lb IRose anb Silver 


work was thrown carelessly across the chair. An 
envelope addressed to “Madame Francesca Bernard’ ’ 
was on the old-fashioned writing desk, and a single 
page of rose-stamped paper lay near it, bearing, in a 
familiar hand: “My Dearest.” 

The two words filled Allison with panic. Not 
knowing how Rose was wont to address the little old 
lady they both loved, he conjured up the forbidding 
spectre of The Other Man, that had haunted him for 
weeks past. 

Sighing, he sat down at the piano, and began to 
drum idly, with one hand. “Wonder if I could 
use the other,” he thought. “Pretty stiff, I 
guess.” 

He began to play, from memory: 





Ube tocusc Mbere %ovc %iv& 295 

and outside a woman paused, almost at the threshold, 
with her hands upon her heart. In a sudden throb of 
pain, the old days came back. She saw herself at the 
piano, aching with love and longing, while just be- 
yond, in an old moonlit garden, Allison made love to 
Isabel. 




— «- 

_f- T 




Was it a ghost, or was it — ? No, she was only 
foolish. Aunt Francesca had promised not to tell, 
and she never broke her word. Besides, why should 
he seek her? 


®U> TCose ant> Silver 


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"It's only someone who has stopped in passing/* 
Rose thought, “to ask the way to the next town, or to 
get a glass of water, or — I won’t be foolish! I'll go 
in!" 




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So she crossed the threshold, into the house where 
Love lived. 

At the sound of her step, the man turned quickly, 
the music ending in a broken chord. 

“You!" she gasped. “Oh, how could you come!" 
“By train," answered Allison gently, “and then by 
walking. I’ve frightened you, Rose. ” 


t£be Ibouse TOlbere %ovc Xtreb 


*97 


u No,” she stammered sinking into a chair. “I’m 
^-Pm surprised, of course. I’m glad you’re well 
enough to be about again. Did — is anything wrong 
with Aunt Francesca?” she asked, anxiously. 

44 Indeed there isn’t. She was blooming like a lilac 
bush in Maj 7 , when I saw her last night.” 

“Did — did — she tell you?” 

“She did not, ” he returned, concisely. 

“ Then how — how ? ” 

“ I just came. What made you think you could get 
away from me?” 

“I wasn’t — getting away,” she returned, with 
difficulty. “I was just tired — and I came here to — 
to rest — and to work, ” she concluded, lamely. “You 
didn’t need me. ” 

“Not need you,” he cried, stretching his trembl- 
ing hands toward her. “Oh, Rose, I need you 
always!” 

Slowly the colour ebbed from her face, leaving 
her white to the lips. “Don’t,” she said, piti- 
fully. 

“Oh, I know,” he flashed back, bitterly. “I’ve 
lost any shadow of right I might ever have had. 
because I was a blind fool, and I never had any chance 
anyway. All I can do is to go on loving you, needing 
you, wanting you; seeing your face before me every 
hour of the day and night, thirsting for you with every 
fibre of me. All I have to keep is an empty husk of 
memory — those few weeks you were kind to me. At 
least I had you with me, though your heart belonged 
to someone else.” 

“Someone else?” she repeated, curiously. The 
colour was coming back slowly now. 

“Yes. Have you forgotten you told me? That 


©l& IRose an& Silver 


C98 

day, don’t you remember, you said you had loved 
another man who did not care for you?” 

Rose nodded. Her face was like a crimson 
flower swaying on a slender stem. “I said,” she 
began “that I had loved a man who did not care 
for me, and that I always would. Wasn’t that it?” 

“ Something like that. I wish to God I could change 
places with him. ” 

“Did I,” hesitated Rose, “are you sure — that I 
said — another man, or was it just — a man?” 

* 1 Rose ! What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

Covered with lovely confusion, she stumbled over 
to the window, where she might hide her burning face 
from him. “Don’t you think, ” she asked, unsteadily, 
“that it is beautiful here? This is Aunt Francesca’s 
little house, where she came when she was first mar- 
ried. She always calls it ‘ the little house where Love 
lived.’ 

“And I came here,” she went on, courageously, 
“because, in a house where Love — had lived, I 
thought there might be some — for ” 

Her voice trailed off into in an indistinct murmur. 
“Rose,” cried Allison, “couldn’t you give me just 
what I had before? Couldn’t we go back, and never 
mind the other man?” 

“There’s never any going back,” she answered, in 
a whisper. Her heart was beating wildly because he 
was so near. “And did I say — are you sure I said — 
another man?” 

“Rose! Rose! Look at me! Tell me, for God’s 
sake, who he was — or is. I can’t bear it!” 

She turned toward him. “Look,” she said, softly. 
“Look in my face and see.” 

For a tense instant he hesitated. Then, with 


TTbe Ibouse Mbere %ovc 3 Lft>eb 299 


a little cry of joy, he clasped her close forever, 
having seen his own face mirrored in her happy 
eyes. 













KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN’S 
STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT 

Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer 


THE OLD PEABODY PEW. Large Octavo. Decorative 
text pages, printed in two colors. Illustrations by Alice 
Barber Stephens. 

One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this 
author’s pen is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet 
freshness of an old New England meeting house. 

PENELOPE’S PROGRESS . Attractive cover design in 

colors. 

Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very 
clever and original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting 
themselves to the Scot and his land are full of humor. 

PENELOPE’S IRISH EXPERIENCES. Uniform in style 

with “Penelope’s Progress.” 

The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the bor- 
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new conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit. 

REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 

One of the most beautiful studies of childhood — Rebecca’s artis- 
tic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand cut midst a circle 
of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phe- 
nomenal dramatic record. 

NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. With illustrations 
by F. C. Yohn. 

Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca 
through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. 

ROSE O’ THE RIVER. With illustrations by George 

Wright. 

The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy 
young farmer, The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love 
and merges the story into an emotional strain where the reader fol- 
lows the events with rapt attention. 


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OF THE NORTHWEST 


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THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN’S LAND 

The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves 
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old world. 

BLACK ROCK 

A story of strong men in the mountains of the West. 

THE SKY PILOT 

A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, 
the truest tenderness and the finest courage. 

THE PROSPECTOR 

A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them 
to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed a 
protector. 

THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY 

This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and 
volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breathes 
from every word. 

GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS 

In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has 
found human nature in the rough. 

THE DOCTOR 

The story of a “ preacher-doctor” whom big men and 
reckless men loved for his unselfish life among them. 

THE FOREIGNER 

A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a “ foreigner ” who 
made a brave and winning fight for manhood and love. 
CORPORAL CAMERON 

This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about 
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this book. 


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JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S 

STORIES OF ADVENTURE 

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KAZAN 

The tale of a “quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky” 
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BAREE, SON OF KAZAN 

The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant 
part he played in the lives of a man and a woman. 

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM 

The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, 
and his battle with Captain Plum. 

THE DANGER TRAIL 

A tale of snow, of love, of Indian vengeance, and a mystery 
of the North. 

THE HUNTED WOMAN 

A tale of the “end of the line,” and of a great fight in the 
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THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH 

The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilder- 
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THE GRIZZLY KING 

The story of Thor, the big grizzly who lived in a valley where 
man had never come. 

ISOBEL 

A love story of the Far North. 

THE WOLF HUNTERS 

A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness. 

THE GOLD HUNTERS 
The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds. 

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE 
Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and 
women. 

BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY 
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"STORM COUNTRY” BOOKS BY 

GRACE MILLER WHITE 


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JUDY OF ROGUES* HARBOR 
Judy’s untutored ideas of God, her love of wild things, 
her faith in life are quite as inspiring as those of Tess. 
Her faith and sincerity catch at your heart strings. This 
book has all of the mystery and tense action of the other 
Storm Country books. 

TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY 
It was as Tess, beautiful, wild, impetuous, that Mary 
Pickford made, her reputation as a motion picture actress. 
How love acts upon a temperament such as hers — a tem- 
perament that makes a woman an angel or an outcast, ac- 
cording to the character of the man she loves — is the 
theme of the story. 

THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY 

The sequel to “ Tess of the Storm Country,” with the 
same wild background, with its half-gypsy life of the squat- 
ters — tempestuous, passionate, brooding. Tess learns the 
“ secret ” of her birth and finds happiness and love through 
her boundless faith in life. 

FROM THE VALLEY OF THE MISSING 

A haunting story with its scene laid near the country 
familiar to readers of “ Tess of the Storm Country.” 

ROSE O’ PARADISE 

“ Jinny” Singleton, wild, lovely, lonely, but with a pas- 
sionate yearning for music, grows up in the house of Lafe 
Grandoken, a crippled cobbler of the Storm Country. Her 
romance is full of power and glory and tenderness. 


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STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY 


GENE STRATTON-PORTER 

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THE HARVESTER = 

Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs 

“The Harvester,” David Langston, is 
a man of the woods and fields, who draws 
hi3 living from the prodigal hand of Mother 
Nature herself. If the book had nothing in 
it but the splendid figure of this man, with 
his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, 
and his almost miraculous knowledge of 
nature secrets, it would be notable. But 
when the Girl comes to his “Medicine 
W ooda,” and the Harvester’s whole sound, 
healthy, large outdoor being realizes that 
this is the highest point of life which has 
come to him — there begins a romance, 
troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. 

FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford 

Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way ia 
which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in Hi q 

E eat Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meetu 
tn succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love* 
story with “The Angel” are full of real sentiment. 

A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST . 

Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. 

The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable 
type of the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and 
kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the 
sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from 
barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. 

It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauues 
of the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. 

AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. 

Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by 
Ralph Fletcher Seymour. 

The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central 
Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self- 
sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, and 
the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is 
brhn£*l of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos 
and tender sentiment will endear it to all 


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LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. 

A charming story of a quaint corner of New England. The story 
centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff 
of a newspaper — and is one of the sweetest and quaintes of old- 
fashioned love stories. 

FLOWER OF THE DUSK. 

A crippled daughter struggles to keep up the deception of riches 
for the comfort of a blind father. Through the aid of an heiress 
and her surgeon lover both father and daughter are cured. 

MASTER OF THE VINEYARD, 

A pathetic love story of a young girl, Rosemary. The teacher of 
the country school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to 
know her through her desire for books. She is happy in his love till 
another woman comes into his life. But happiness comes to Rose- 
mary at last. 

OLD ROSE AND SILVER. 

A love story. — sentimental and humorous, — with the plot subor- 
dinate to the character delineation of its quaint people and to the 
exquisite descriptions of picturesque spots. 

A WEAVER OF DREAMS. 

This story tells of the love-affairs of three young people, with an 
old-fashioned romance in the background. 

A SPINNER IN THE SUN. 

An old-fashioned love story of a veiled lady who lives in solitude. 
There is a mystery that throws over it the glamour of romance, 

THE MASTER’S VIOLIN. 

A love story in a musical atmosphere, An old German virtuoso 
consents to take for his pupil a youth who proves to have an apti- 
tude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. But a girl 
comes into his life, and through his passionate love for her his soul 
awakes 


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